












































































































































. 










































I 5 i 




















































. . 






' 
































































































BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 












*• 





















■ 



















COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY 
MARGERY ALLINGHAM 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION 
INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES 
AT 

THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y 

First Edition 



©C1A759666 ^ "* 


NOV -3 1923 


A'V^j 'V*' 



DEDICATED 

TO 

HAL GRAME 


IN THE HOPE THAT HE WILL BE SATISFIED 
THAT I HAVE DONE MY BEST TO FULFIL 
THE PROMISE I MADE TO HIM TO TELL THE 
STORY OF ANNY AND TO “ TELL TRUE ” 















INTRODUCTION 



THE sense of requiring elucidation or apology, 


this novel needs no introduction. The young 


^ lady who wrote it about two years ago, when she 
was eighteen, has already abandoned this work to pub¬ 
lishers and other grown-ups, and with admirable profes¬ 
sional good sense, is working upon fresh enterprises. 

In this, indeed, she is a genuine artist. Nothing 
is more clear from her correspondence with the 
writer of this introduction, than that she is, without 
ever becoming conscious of the fact, a genuine artist. 
Speaking of the intellectuals who occasionally im¬ 
pinge upon the family circle she says: “They have a 

horrid habit of-oh, I can’t spell it, but it means 

pulling their minds to pieces and finding out how they 
are made, and they do that with their emotions, too.” 

Nothing of the sort is to be found in this tale of 
eastern England during the Restoration. And yet, 
while we may accept the unusual spectacle of a 
modern schoolgirl writing a red-blooded adventure 
story and privately poking fun at psychoanalysts and 
their dupes, we are justified in a certain curiosity as 
to the genesis of such a book. That curiosity the 
introduction is designed to assuage. 

Margery Allingham, whom the writer first met at 


Vll 


viii INTRODUCTION 

the early age of two, comes of literary stock. Her 
grandparents were publishers in the days before the 
big combinations made an independent weekly paper 
a hopeless hazard. Her parents are journalists and 
writers of fiction. The business aspects of literature, 
the philosophy of art, and the technical problems of 
serial fiction have been commonplaces of the do¬ 
mestic atmosphere which the future novelist breathed 
during her childhood. It was as natural for Margery 
to sit down and “write a story” as for a shopkeeper’s 
child to play at keeping a shop. It was inevitable 
also that she should start a magazine. I remember 
it well. It was called The Wag-tail , and the 
founder was about eight years old. I was foreign 
correspondent, a rank imposed because of my 
being on a ship and so bringing news of distant 
shores. Margery herself, however, was mainly 
responsible for the publication. It was written in a 
penny exercise book, and editorial, short-story, serial, 
answers to correspondents and advertisements were 
entirely by the founder. Our collaboration on this 
long-defunct organ laid the foundation of an enduring 
friendship. When she was eleven, Margery was 
graciously pleased to accept the dedication of one 
of my novels, in the spirit in which it was offered. 
It was a gesture neither of condescension nor of 
derision, but rather a sincere and, let us hope, success¬ 
ful attempt on the part of a man a good way up the 
hill to give a friendly and affectionate signal to a 
child already breasting the lower reaches. 


INTRODUCTION 


ix 


And as the years followed one another in that 
peculiar progression which is neither arithmetical 
nor geometrical, but rather telescopic, whereby the 
young close up upon us and make us uneasily aware of 
our own slothful deficiencies, it became increasingly 
evident that in spite of the secret discouragement of 
wise parents, who did their best to hold themselves up 
as Awful Warnings, Margery Allingham would sooner 
or later express herself in one of the arts. Which 
art she would choose seemed equally certain until the 
family circle learned that she proposed to “go in” for 
elocution. 

The present writer, hearing of this in foreign parts, 
was at first nonplussed. With the lack of intelli¬ 
gence that seems to distinguish so many grown-up 
males, he feared there would be “dirty work at the 
cross-roads” when his lady friend discovered the real 
nature of a theatrical career. He might have saved 
himself the trouble. The lady friend, gleefully 
reporting progress, was evidently too preoccupied 
with the spectacle of grown-ups in action to bother 
about the future at all. She regarded elocution as a 
means rather than an end. It was perfectly natural 
for her, when she failed to find pieces suitable for 
recitation, to write them herself. It was a simple 
step, it appears, when the class at the Polytechnic 
sought for a play in which to reveal their virtuosity 
to friends and parents, for Margery Allingham to 
write that play, to stage-manage it, to design the 
costumes, and to assume the principal role herself. 


X 


INTRODUCTION 


It was, in short, the little old Wag-tail magazine upon 
a somewhat larger scale. One might be pardoned 
for supposing that the advice of a large and talented 
family circle would be invoked on behalf of a favourite 
daughter. On the contrary, they are pictured in 
many letters as standing around in helpless admi¬ 
ration while a seventeen-year-old maiden carries 
through her plans with the precision of an experienced 
and ruthless impresario. The play, a blank-verse 
tragedy entitled “Dido, Queen of Carthage”, is re¬ 
hearsed and ultimately performed with such aston¬ 
ishing success that additional performances have to 
be scheduled and the public permitted to pay for 
admission. 

Ail this, even though it included illustrated inter¬ 
views in the London press, was regarded by the chief 
protagonist as the inept reaction of grown-ups to a 
very ordinary achievement of modern youth. For it 
should be borne in mind that modern youth, while it 
is not particularly impressed with the performances 
or the philosophies of the preceding generation, is 
perfectly willing to abide by the rules of the eco¬ 
nomic game. The activities enumerated above were 
by no means the spectacular antics of a pampered 
parasite. Money was being earned in a highly 
diverting fashion. It appears that not only are films 
adapted from books, but books and stories are 
redistilled back from the films. Should money be 
necessary for scenery or costumes, it was Margery 
Allingham’s habit to witness a few pictures, trans- 


INTRODUCTION 


xi 


mute them into fiction and send them to the weekly 
journals that publish such stories. The picture 
evoked by a series of engaging letters written over 
the past three years is that of a shrewd and competent 
being from another world struggling with the stu¬ 
pidities and prejudices of a crowd of tottering half¬ 
wits upon the verge of dissolution. Youth seems to 
be having a tough time of it in England, as well as in 
America. There is nothing new about this, accord¬ 
ing to our novelist. “The modern girl is simply 
Miss 1840 without her petticoats,” is her definition, 
based on an attentive study of Jane Austen’s hero¬ 
ines. The trouble lies, not with youth, but with 
middle age, whose intellect tends to ossify more 
rapidly than of yore. It is an interesting theory, 
though evidently not designed to placate either 
publishers or the writers of introductions. 

To come to grips with the question of the origin 
of this particular novel, however, is a delicate matter. 
We find ourselves on enchanted ground. When a 
young lady of eighteen writes a novel in four months 
and calmly asserts that the story came to her out of 
the air, as it were, communicated by so-called auto¬ 
matic writing, the average grown-up hesitates. He 
has a foolish predilection for sober realities, and is 
reluctant to admit familiar spirits, as it were, to the 
family circle. Modern youth, dragging her family 
after her, calls up the ghosts of departed rapscallions, 
witches, and serving-wenches, and forthwith sits 
down to fashion a stirring tale. 


INTRODUCTION 


xii 

The novel, then, is a story within a story. The 
latter has for me a peculiar fascination. Knowing 
the characters who sat round that table in the house 
on Mersea Island, knowing the Island itself and the 
surrounding fenland, I wanted to write a story about 
them. I have repressed this desire, contenting 
myself with recounting to occasional groups of 
friends the amazing facts. Now that the novel 
has been written, and published in England and 
America by people who know little and care nothing 
about its origins, judging it merely as a piece of 
fiction commercially available, the opportunity ar¬ 
rives to reveal briefly the unusual circumstances out 
of which the tale was born. 

That part of England called East Anglia has 
preserved through many centuries the salient fea¬ 
tures of the landsoape. As Charles Dickens said 
of the French-Flemish country, it is neither bold nor 
diversified, being in fact a sort of continuation of that 
country on the other side of the shallow and recent 
North Sea. And indeed what Dickens went on to 
say of his Flemish-French country, that it was 
three parts Flemish and one part French, might be 
paraphrased for East Anglia as three parts English 
and one part Low Country, or three parts land and 
one part water. The shores emerge imperceptibly 
from the gray waste of the North Sea, with stretches 
of low-tide mud that shine with a metallic lustre 
beyond the dunes. The sea is loth to retreat, wind¬ 
ing in and out among the fields, so that one is startled, 


INTRODUCTION 


xiii 

driving along the road from Colchester towards 
Mersea, to see a huge brown wherry aground behind 
the dikes, many miles from the sea-lanes outside. 
And from Canvey Island, which is fairly in the 
Thames Estuary below Tilbury, to Aldeburgh, on the 
Suffolk Coast, the sea interpenetrates the land so 
deeply and with so many loops and backwaters, that 
the whole coast, to high tide, is compacted of lonely 
islands, with here and there a house and the square 
tower of an ancient little Saxon church showing 
above some weather-worn trees on the landward 
side. Bleak and perishing cold in the winter, there 
is a quiet loveliness in the summers there appealing 
strongly to unfashionable folk who seek the ele¬ 
mental sanctuaries of remote harbours and salt winds 
driving the thick white clouds athwart a sky of 
palest azure. 

In such surroundings and with a practicable house 
for sleep, you come close to England. In such 
surroundings, on a fare of beef and cheese and beer, 
an English family might conceivably become so 
homogeneously identified with the spirit of the place 
that they could move at will up and down the cen¬ 
turies, assuming the thoughts and memories of any 
disembodied intelligences still anchored to their 
earthly haunts. So at least it emerges, reading the 
sober evidence before us, as those four set it down, 
signing it with their several names and styles, and 
asserting their right as truthful subjects to be 
believed. 


XIV 


INTRODUCTION 


And what they say is this: In August, 1920, being 
in their cottage on Mersea Island, on an evening that 
had turned to rain, the time hung heavily and it 
was suggested they pass an hour with the glass. The 
ordinary materials were soon provided, being no 
more than the alphabet on paper slips, arranged in a 
circle on the table with a common tumbler, from 
which ale is drunk in those parts, inverted in the 
middle. Nothing remained save to select some 
feasible subject. 

One lay to their hand. While none of the com¬ 
pany had practised the historical method in their 
fictions, since they lacked the special knowledge of 
bygone ways and speech such work demands, they 
had often discussed a legend persisting in the island, 
that a near-by tavern, long since destroyed, had 
been the scene of a tragedy. Old people in the 
village said they had seen the ghost, which haunted 
a house known as The Myth. “Let us,” said someone, 
“call up the landlord of the Ship Inn. Perhaps,” they 
added amidst some laughter, “he will reply.” 

He did! Amid great yet repressed excitement, 
the mysterious glass slid to and fro, spelling out a 
name. As far as can be ascertained, for once the 
exact requirements of time and place and method 
came together, and some sort of communication was 
established across the “gateless barrier” that sepa¬ 
rates us from the souls who linger near the scenes of 
their earthly existence, loth to wander far from their 
native air. Night after night, for long hours, these 


INTRODUCTION 


xv 


inexperienced folk sat round their table holding 
converse with the spirits that syllable men’s names, 
piecing together the fragments, evoking new wit¬ 
nesses to check up obscure allusions, puzzling over 
the illiterate and archaic words and phrases which 
none of them, by any possible chance, could have 
heard before. 

No provision, however, is made in modern publish¬ 
ing for works produced by authors after they are 
dead. It is absolutely necessary, when it comes to 
publishing, to have some representative this side of 
the grave, and Margery Allingham, whose mortal 
hand wrote the following novel, is compelled by the 
hidebound rules of a material and grown-up world 
to assume the authorship. Publishers, it seems, 
from an inspection of our correspondence, are grown¬ 
ups. 

It cannot be said that they have, in this particular 
case, failed in their obligations to the public. There 
is one notable feature about this novel, which the 
present writer did not read until it had been accepted 
for publication, and that is the clean and workman¬ 
like characterization. Here is no fine writing, no 
groping for “style.” With crisp hammer-blows the 
tale is told. A realistic romance, if you please, in the 
sense that no one stands between us and the charac¬ 
ters of Black’erchief Dick . It is the realism of 
Defoe’s Captain Singleton and the Plague Year , 
where the author achieves a magical invisibility. 
So far from leading his characters forward and 


XVI 


INTRODUCTION 


leaving them to speak, and so revealing themselves 
as the children of his brain, the realistic romanticist 
never appears at all. Unlike the romantic realist, 
who passes everything through the spectrum of his 
own personality, his story must stand by its own 
inherent quality. There are some who would deny 
him the rank of artist, claiming that title exclusively 
for the introspective specialists. The present writer 
cannot subscribe to that narrow creed. He can even 
imagine a votary of introspection casting envious 
eyes upon this stirring tale of love and piracy 
in seventeenth-century England, and wondering 
whether something may not be said for the objective 
method after all, where you begin at the beginning 
and end at the end, where something is allowed for 
the picturesque, and the artist works within the 
ancient and honourable conventions that are ac¬ 
cepted, and loved, and comprehended by the crowd. 

William McFee. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 











BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


CHAPTER I 

D ANGEROUS! Why, there’s no trade from 
here to the Indies more dangerous than ours. 
Fve been about a bit, and mind you I 

know.” 

Mat Turnby shifted his large body to a position of 
greater ease, tilted slightly the rum cask on which 
he was sitting, and leaned back against the fully 
rigged mast, balancing himself carefully in accord¬ 
ance with the gentle roll of the ship. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Mat,” remarked a 
wiry, black-bearded man, who squatted on a coil of 
rope some six feet away. “I’ve been on this ship 
two years now, and how many fights have I had with 
the Preventative folk? Three! How many hands 
did we lose in the lot ? Eleven! That’s not danger!” 

“Ah!” said the other, wisely nodding his head, 
“maybe, maybe, Blueneck, but it’s some nine 
months since we last went foul them coastguards and 
since then we’ve been coming and going as though 
the damned old Channel belonged to us. Such 
scatter-brained tricks don’t pay in the end.” 

“You be careful what you’re saying, Mat Turnby,” 


2 


BLACK 'ERCHIEF DICK 


piped a shivering, miserable, little man, who was 
trying to protect himself from the cutting February 
wind with a ragged, parti-coloured blanket which 
he continually wrapped and unwrapped about his 
skeleton-like shoulders, “you be careful what you're 
saying. All kinds o' things on this ship have ears,” 
and he nodded once or twice significantly. 

The big man moved uneasily on his unstable seat, 
but he answered boldly enough: 

“I saying? Here, you mind what you're saying, 
you snivelling rat! Saying? I'm not saying aught 
as I am ashamed of—I say these daring tricks don't 
pay in the end—and—and—they don't,” he finished 
abruptly. 

“Oh! it's not for the likes o' us to talk about what 
the Captain does,” said the little man whiningly. 
He snuffled noisily and unwrapped and wrapped his 
blanket again. “Not for the likes o' us,” he repeated. 

“Who's saying aught of the Cap'n?” roared Mat, 
bringing the cask to the deck with a thud. “ Who's 
saying aught of the Cap’n?” 

“Oh! no one, no one at all,” said the shiverer, con¬ 
siderably startled. Then he added, as the big man 
slid back against the mast once more: “But if no 
one did—that's all right, ain't it? If no one did, I 
say.” 

Mat swore a round of obscene oaths under his 
breath and there was silence for a minute or two. 

They were nearly at the end of the trip. Indeed, 
another two hours or so would see them safely at 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


3 

anchor in the safest of all smugglers’ havens—the 
mouth of the River Blackwater, and their car¬ 
go easily and openly landed on Mersea Marsh 
Island. 

The shivering little man smiled to himself at the 
thought of it. The warm kitchen at the Victory 
Inn, the smoking rum-cup, and the pleasant sallies 
of the fair Eliza appealed to his present mood, and 
he sniffled again and rearranged his blanket. 

The green, white-splashed water lapped against the 
boat and a big saddle-backed gull flew over, scream¬ 
ing plaintively. 

Mat began to talk again. 

“I wonder why we do it,” he said slowly. “There 
ain’t anything in him—a weak, ugly little Spaniard, 
no-” 

Blueneck interrupted sharply. 

“Hush,” he said. “No good ever comes of talking 
about Black’erchief Dick, whatever is said.” 

“Who said I was talking of the Cap’n?” said Mat 
quickly. 

Blueneck looked uncomfortable, but he replied 
steadily: “Ah! Mat Turnby, you be careful!” 

Mat laughed. 

“I reckon you’ve got enough to do lookin’ after 
ye'rself—wi’out worrying about me, master Span¬ 
iard,” he said good-naturedly. 

Blueneck shifted his position slightly. 

“I reckon we git paid more than most sea-faring 
folk,” he said. 


4 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


Mat snorted. 

“Oh, yes!” he growled, “paid! We’re paid, all 
right, but how are we treated?” 

Blueneck grinned. 

“Like princes of the blood on the island,” he 
laughed. 

“Oh! yes, on the island,” Mat’s voice rose, “but 
I say—on the brig? How then? Like dogs, men— 
like dirty, heathen, black-skinned dogs! And what 
I ask is, why do we do it ? Are we men to be afraid 
of a brown-skinned, drunken little pirate of a Span¬ 
iard ? Just because he owns a brig or two and smug¬ 
gles as much rum in a year as any other man in the 
trade? What has he got about him that we should 
turn wenches and follow him, like the scum he thinks 
us? Save that he has a mighty plaguey way of 
turning fine words and-” 

“The knife!” 

The little man who had spoken huddled his blanket 
closer and shuddered again. The wind dropped for 
a moment and a tremor ran through the full sails, 
as though they also had shivered. 

Mat Turnby laughed, albeit somewhat uneasily. 

“The knife?” he said. “Lord, what’s a knife to a 
man who holds one of these?” He pulled a heavy 
flintlock pistol out of a pocket in the voluminous 
skirts of the sleeveless and brightly coloured coat 
which he wore over a rough homespun guernsey and 
held it on the palm of his open hand. 

Blueneck smiled grimly. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


5 

“A precious great deal when the hand that holds 
the knife is Black’erchief Dick’s/’ he said. 

Mat Turnby laughed again contemptuously. 

“Are you flesh and good red blood, or mud and 
pond slime, that you fear the foolish word of a Span¬ 
ish sot? I tell you no knife held in a mortal hand 
can stand against a bullet from this.” 

“Ay, in a mortal hand,” said he of the blanket, 
fearfully looking behind him. 

The big sailor swore. 

“Lord,” he said, “I knew not that I had come 
aboard a ship manned with a crew of beldames. I 
tell you this great captain of yours would be laid 
as flat as Mersea mud with one little lead ball from 
this.” 

He stroked the pistol lovingly. 

“Maybe,” said Blueneck stubbornly. “But who¬ 
ever fired that shot would die by—the knife.” 

“Ah! that’s tremendous likely,” sneered the other; 
“him on his back with a good ounce of lead in that 
wicked head of his.” 

Blueneck shrugged his shoulders. 

“You can laugh now, Mat Turnby,” he said, 
“but you won’t always laugh at what I tell you. 
No, not by a long way, that you won’t.” 

He hugged his knees to his chin, and let the heavy 
lids fall over his eyes. 

This apparent indifference seemed to irritate Mat 
more than words for, bringing his hand down on his 
knee with a mighty slap, he swore loudly for several 


6 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


seconds. Then suddenly breaking off short he burst 
into a short, sharp laugh. 

“Well!” he said. “It’s time the Spanish swine 
knew that there’s someone aboard who ain’t afraid 
of him, no, neither him nor his knife. S’truth! am 
I to cower down to a Spaniard ? ” 

He stretched his huge limbs and showed his large 
yellow teeth as he smiled rather sourly. 

“No, by the Lord, not I,” he went on. “Let him 
cross me if he dare, and he’ll see good Suffolk blood 
is a match for thin Spanish sap any day. Ho! ho! 
ho! let him cross me if he dare. Ho! ho!” 

The laugh died away on his lips as from just behind 
his ear came another. It was soft, rich, musical, 
and wholly unpleasant. 

At the first sound of it the three men sat rigid, and 
when it had ceased there was no sound for several 
seconds save for the water lapping against the side 
and the scream of the gulls overhead. 

Blueneck was the first of the sailors to recover. 
He lifted his eyes cautiously to the direction from 
which the laugh had come. 

He saw what he feared and expected. Up against 
the other side of the mast, directly behind Mat Turn- 
by, stood a slight figure dressed extravagantly in the 
French style of the day, a dandy from the Brussels 
frill at his throat to the great silver buckles of rich 
workmanship which adorned his tanned shoes. But it 
was not these things which stopped the three sailors so 
suddenly in their talk and caused them to sit aghast. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


7 

The most remarkable thing about the newcomer 
was his face—long, lean, brown, and unhandsome, 
it yet had a character at once interesting and repul¬ 
sive. The finely marked eyebrows met across the low, 
well-tanned brow in an almost straight line, and the 
hair—oiled and curled—showed as black as the silk 
kerchief which covered the greater part of head and 
neck. The eyes beneath the lids, fringed with heavy 
lashes, smiled and glittered disconcertingly. The 
whole face was smiling now, viciously, almost fiend¬ 
ishly, but yet smiling and with some enjoyment. 

Blueneck’s eyes dropped before that terrible smile 
and, as they travelled slowly downward, suddenly 
dilated, and he shivered as though a snake had 
touched him. 

The figure by the mast had moved a little more 
round and his hand was visible. It was at this that 
Blueneck stared. 

Among the small, white, much-beringed fingers* 
and round the slender wrist from which the lace 
ruffle had been pushed back a little, slid the thin 
blue blade of a Spanish stiletto. Through the thumb 
and first finger it slipped, over the blue vein of the 
white forearm, mingled its brightness with the flash¬ 
ing jewels on the third and fourth fingers—and so 
round again, all without any apparent effort or even 
movement of the hand. It was an exhibition to be 
admired and praised, yet Blueneck and the shivering 
little man at his side shuddered and looked away. 

Mat Turnby, on the other hand, had not seen any- 


8 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


thing. He sat quite still, the pistol lying idly in the 
palm of his great hand, staring fixedly in front of 
him. 

A hand, white and slender, slid over his left 
shoulder and away again—the pistol vanished. 
Still Mat did not move. 

“A very pretty toy, and a useful, my friend,” 
said the same soft voice, just behind Mat’s ear. 

The big sailor pulled himself together with an 
effort, stood up, then turned toward his captain. 

Blueneck and the little man in the blanket also 
rose. 

Black’erchief Dick had not changed his position. 
The big pistol and the slender knife lay side by side 
on his small white palm, and he still smiled as he 
spoke again: 

“Now my noble son of an ox,” he began pleas¬ 
antly, his white teeth shining, “if it so happened that 
this day you had to die——” A hasty flush spread 
over the giant’s face, but otherwise he made no sign. 
Black’erchief Dick continued, “If, I say,” he re¬ 
peated, “that this day you had to die, which of these 
beautiful toys would you choose as a means to 
death?” 

He held his open hand a little nearer to the sailor. 

Blueneck stared at him, fascinated, and the little 
man with the blanket sniffed audibly. 

Black’erchief Dick’s eyes left Mat Turnby for 
a moment and rested on the shivering little creature. 
“Sniff thy way aft, Habakkuk Coot,” he said quietly. 



BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


9 

The little man stared at him, shivered, sniffed again, 
and seemed unable to move. 

Slowly the Spaniard’s arm lifted the pistol in his 
hand. 

Habakkuk sniffed again and his eyes dilated with 
terror; a white finger raised crooked round the trigger, 
and pressed. There was an explosion. Habakkuk 
remained standing for a second, then fled down the 
hatchway, a jagged hole through his blanket. 

Black’erchief Dick smiled and, turning to Mat, 
continued: “As I said, Matthew Turnby, if this 
day thou hadst to die, which of these weapons 
wouldst thou choose? Thou seest I know the man¬ 
ner of either,” he added, and, suddenly darting out 
his hand, he plunged the knife between the big 
sailor’s arm and body, so that the sleeve of the man’s 
guernsey was skewered to the body of his coat. Still 
Mat Turnby neither moved nor spoke. Laughing 
slightly, the Spaniard drew out the knife and resumed 
the one-sided conversation. 

“Nay, Matthew Turnby, you do but jest in keep¬ 
ing the thin Spanish sap in my veins so long waiting 
for an answer,” he said with a sneer and a smile. 
The sailor swallowed noisily, but said nothing. 

“The drunken sot of a pirate must be taught not 
to cross thee, Matthew,” went on the Captain, and 
his smile had vanished, leaving only a weary ex¬ 
pression on the lean features. “Lord! man, if thou 
wilt not choose, faith, I must for thee.” 

“Surely, Capt’n—you jest—surely.” 


IO BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

The words came like a flood from the big man’s 
open mouth. 

An expression of surprise spread over the Span¬ 
iard’s face. “I jest?” he said. “Nay, faith, good 
Matthew, I jest?” he repeated. “Lord, man, when 
didst thou get that into thy ass’s pate—nay, nay, of 
a certainty I do not jest—which wilt thou have?” 

Mat Turnby’s face grew purple, but he did not 
speak; his tongue protruded slightly from his lips. 

Black’erchief Dick looked at the weapons critically 
as they lay side by side in his hand. 

“Ah,” he said at last, holding the pistol in his left 
hand. “This we see, Matthew, is discharged. I 
beg thy pardon, senor, for pressing a choice I could 
not give thee. As it is, you see, but the knife re¬ 
mains,” and he dropped the pistol into a capacious 
pocket. 

Mat Turnby’s hand clutched at his throat and he 
stepped back a pace or two. 

Black’erchief Dick followed him, the knife swing¬ 
ing lightly between his thumb and forefinger. Blue- 
neck stood watching, his eyes fixed on the Spaniard 
in unholy fascination. Farther and farther back 
stepped the big sailor, Dick keeping always the same 
distance from him, until he reached the side of the 
boat. There he stayed, breathless with fear. Slowly 
the Spaniard came nearer and nearer to him, and the 
thin blue blade ceased to swing. 

“So thou wouldst teach that ‘drunken pirate’ that 
all men are not afraid of him? Eh? Is that so? 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


ii 


The voice seemed to grow more caressing at every 
word and the big sailor’s eyes shut. Suddenly they 
opened again and looked down. 

“Look!” Dick was saying. “Look, Matthew, son 
of Suffolk clay, see how fair my blade looks against 
thy fur-grown hide.” He tore at the guernsey and 
pulled it open, showing the great hairy chest beneath. 
The terrified sailor made one lunge forward, as 
though to grasp the lean brown throat, but he was 
too late. Swift as lightning the small white hand 
shot back and then forward, and the thin blue blade 
vanished in the wretched man’s body just over the 
collar-bone, cutting the jugular vein. The great 
body stiffened and then, gradually relaxing* dropped 
at the Spaniard’s feet. 

Blueneck stifled a cry and stepped forward. 

Slowly the Spaniard pulled out the steel, wiped it 
carefully on the brightly coloured sleeveless coat, then 
slipped it into his belt. 

“Over with the dog,” he said shortly to Blueneck, 
as he walked off quietly up the deck. 

Blueneck hailed one of the frightened crew who 
had watched the scene from the deck-house roof, and 
in silence the two lifted up all that was left of the 
great sailor and pushed it over the side. The body 
splashed in the green water and somewhere near a 
cormorant shrieked to his kind the news of fresh 
prey, and the ship, her sails bellying out to the wind, 
sped on toward the island. 


CHAPTER II 


ANNY.” 

/\ “Ay, Hal.” 

JL “Do you love me, lass?” 

“Oh! now why will you keep plaguing me, Hal? 
How many times have I told you so on this same 
wall? You know I do.” 

“Can I kiss you again, then?” 

“Ay, Hal.” 

There was silence for a minute or so, and the 
gulls fishing for eels in the soft black mud came in 
closer to the shingle-strewn strip of beach, taking 
no notice of the two figures on the sea wall, so still 
they stood. 

“When we get married, lass”—the young voice 
sounded clearly in the quietness and the gulls flew 
screaming—“we might keep the Ship ourselves.” 

The girl at his side cut him short with a bitter little 
laugh. 

“Ay, Hal,” she said sadly, “when we get married 
—that’s a tremendous long way off, Tm thinking.” 

The boy put his arm round her waist unchecked. 

“I don’t know,” he said, and his voice sounded 
hopeful, “I don’t know, lass. Gilbot’s leaving the 
place in my hands more than ever, and who knows 


12 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


i3 

but what some day he’ll be handing it over to me 
altogether.” 

Anny joined in his laugh and her hand slid up and 
caressed his broad, scarlet-shirted shoulder. 

‘‘Ay, and then I’ll be serving our own rum, and you 
and Captain Fen de Witt will settle the price your¬ 
selves- Oh, Hal! lad, that’ll be happiness.” 

“Why, Anny, girl, ain’t you happy now? Gilbot’s 
been more than good to both of us. It isn’t every 
landlord who’d bring up a couple of orphans in his inn 
and look after them the way he has us.” 

The girl pouted her full red lips. 

“It isn’t as if we didn’t work for him,” she said. 

“Oh, Anny!”—Hal’s honest blue eyes clouded for 
a moment—“you didn’t serve the liquor till you were 
fourteen, you know, and he even let me study a bit 
before I started to help.” 

“Ay, may be, but your folk left some money to 
him, didn’t they?” 

“Nay, lass. They died aboard Fen de Witt’s 
schooner, the Dark Bloody coming down from the 
North. You know that; I’ve told you so some 
twenty times.” 

“Ay, you have, but I like to hear you praise Gilbot, 
Hal, your eyes shine so, and you seem almost angry 
with me—I like you angry, Hal.” 

The boy laughed. 

“Saucy minion! When we are married you will 
not wish me angry. Faith, lass, you would not 
make another Ben Farran of me—surely?” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


14 

The girl shuddered. 

“Peace, prithee,” she said. “I do not like to hear 
you jest so. Oh, that he had died with my father.” 

“Marry, sweetheart, fie upon thee speaking of 
thy grandsire so,” Hal laughed merrily. 

The girl looked about her uneasily. 

“Hush!” she said. “I would not have him hear 
us.” 

The boy’s laugh rang out again and he bent as 
he kissed her, although her height was unusual in 
the island, for he was very tall. 

“Look, Anny, lass,” he said laughingly. “See 
how far we are from the Pet , and he pointed ahead of 
them to where an old mastless hull lay moored in a 
little bay about a quarter of a mile from where they 
stood. 

Anny glanced up at him and he stopped to look 
at her. Although they had lived in the same house 
since they could remember, he was never tired of 
gazing at that wonderful face of hers, and praising it 
till it reddened to the colour of the rough canvas 
shirt to which he pressed it. 

It was plump and oval in shape, white, but deli¬ 
cately touched with a colour in the cheeks, and her 
hair, of that intense blackness which seems to absorb 
the light, curled over her low forehead. But her 
eyes were wonderful. Of a deep sea-green, they 
caught light and shadow from her surroundings. 
The girl was certainly a beauty and of no common 
type. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


i5 


Hal caught his breath. 

“Anny,” he said, his young eyes regarding her 
solemnly, “you are as beautiful as the sea at five 
o’clock on a summer’s morning. Look, sweetheart, 
over there, see—your eyes are as green as that sea, 
and your hair black as yon breakwater that starts 
out of it.” 

The girl laughed, well pleased, but she looked over 
at the old hull again quickly. 

“Will we go back now?” she asked at last. 

The boy looked at her, astonished. 

“Go back!” he said. “Why, what for—art not 
tired, surely?” 

The girl shook her head. 

“Nay,” she said, “but-” She stopped and 

looked at the hull again. 

Hal followed the direction of her eyes before he 
spoke again. Then he laughed. 

“Why, Anny, you are afraid to pass your grand- 
sire’s boat.” 

Then, as she did not speak, he took her little chin 
in his brown hand and raised her face to his. 

“What are you feared of when I am with you, 
sweetheart?” he asked. 

The girl shivered slightly. 

“They say,” she began hesitatingly, “that Pet 
Salt is a witch.” 

Hal’s face became grave. 

“Ay,” he said, “they do say so, but, Lord,” and 
he smiled, “they said the same of Nan Swayle.” 


16 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

“Ah! but that’s a lie,” said the girl hotly. 

Hal laughed. 

“Ay,” he said, “and maybe so is the tale of Pet 
Salt. Anyway, thy grandsire seems to thrive be¬ 
neath her care, be she witch or no. Fie, Anny, for 
shame,” he added, “you would not haste back yet. 
Master French will not thank us if we get in so soon, 
stopping his love-talk with Mistress Sue.” 

Anny wrapped her shawl a little closer about her 
head and shoulders, and slipped her arm through the 
boy’s, and they walked on for a while without 
speaking. 

About three hundred yards from the old hull 
Anny stopped. 

“Look!” she said, “he’s on deck.” 

Hal looked in the direction in which she pointed 
and saw the stubby figure of old Ben Farran, a long 
telescope to his eye, leaning against the remnant of 
what had once been a neat deck-house. Lumber of 
different kinds—mostly empty rum kegs—lay strewn 
all round him, while from the shattered stump of the 
main-mast to the painted ear of the fearsome green- 
and-red dragon, which served as a figurehead, was 
stretched a clothes-line, on which a few rags leaped 
and fought in the cold breeze. 

Hal studied him critically for a few moments. 

“He’s not so deep in liquor as usual,” he said at 
last. 

“Oh! poor Pet Salt!” exclaimed the girl involun¬ 
tarily. “I wonder where she is?” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


17 

“Stowed away safely under hatches, I reckon,” 
said Hal, with a laugh. 

“You should not jest, Hal. I have not known 
him able to stand so these three months. I fear he 
may have kilt her. He would if she could beg him 
no more rum.” 

“Oh! what a soft heart it is,” said the boy gently. 
“How long ago was it that thou shivered when I 
spoke her name, and now you fear for her. Shall we 
go back?” 

The girl hesitated for a moment, then she said: 
“Nay, she may have need of help, poor soul. Come 
with me, Hal.” 

“Come with thee, lass! Think you Td let you go 
alone—thy grandsire sobered?” His voice rose in 
indignation as he put his arm about her shoulders 
protectingly. 

They came within twenty yards of the boat before 
the swaying figure on the deck became aware of them. 
Then, however, to their extreme surprise he hailed 
them affably and called to Hal. 

“Hey, you boy there, be your eyes good?” 

“Ay, none so bad, sir.” 

“Ah, I doubt it. Come up here, will ’ee, and see if 
you can make out this craft.” Then, his eyes falling on 
the girl, “Is it that slut Anny you have with you?” 

“ Tis Anny Farren, sir,” she said, speaking for 
herself. 

“Ah! you run down to Pet Salt, girl, she may need 
thee.” 


i8 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


Anny climbed up the rope ladder which dangled 
over the side, and Hal after her. 

“Is Pet Salt sick, Grandsire?” she ventured tim¬ 
idly. 

Anny had been a serving-maid at the Ship Tavern 
some three years and her acquaintance with profane 
language was not limited, but she quailed visibly and 
the red blood mounted from her throat to the ebony 
curls on her forehead before the stream of abuse 
levelled at the head of the unfortunate woman in the 
hold. She fled down the hatchway, and Hal stood 
looking after her, undecided whether to follow his 
love and protect her from the aged witch below deck, 
or to remain and attempt to pacify the wrathful man 
by the deck-house. 

Ben decided for him. 

“Here you are,” he said fiercely, “take this tele¬ 
scope. Now”—as Hal took it from the old man’s 
unsteady fingers—“what do you see?” 

The young Norseman, his yellow hair curling over 
his ears and one dark blue eye screwed to the rim, 
swept the glass to and fro once or twice, then he held 
it still. 

“She’s a brig,” he said at last. 

“Ah!” assented the old man. 

Hal looked again. “Light’s very bad,” he re¬ 
marked. 

“I could ha’ told you that—here, give me the 
thing.” Ben regained possession of the glass and, 
unable to hold it steady, broke into another flood of 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


i9 

profane language, cursing the woman, Pet Salt, again 
and again. 

“She has vexed thee, sir?” 

The young man put the question timidly. 

“The ronyon burnt my rum-cup,” Ben Farran 
gulped with rage. “Oh, lad! the defiling of good, 
Heaven-sent rum with burnt eggs and honey!” 

He spat on the deck at the thought of it. 

The boy grinned, but he said nothing. 

Once again the old man handed him the telescope. 

“Now look! Be she Captain Fen de Witt’s Dark 
Blood?” 

Hal began to understand the old drunkard’s in¬ 
terest in the brig. If this was the Dark Blood , the 
whole of the east end of the Island would run rum 
for a night or so, and, as he guessed, Ben’s stock was 
getting low. 

“Nay,” he said at last, “’tis not she. Why, 
Master Farran, Captain Fen de Witt, isn’t expected 
for a week or more.” 

The old man mumbled curses for a while before 
he spoke. 

“Ah! but who be she?” he said, pointing out to 
the horizon. 

“Why,” said the boy in some surprise, “ ’tis some¬ 
one making for the West.” 

The old man seized the glass. 

“ ’Tis impossible, with the tide out like this,” he 
said. 

Hal strained his eyes. 


20 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


“Ay,” he said, “but she’s trying it.” 

“But I tell thee, lad,” Ben’s voice rose shrilly, 
“ ’tis impossible. Why, down there in the fleet there 
ain’t no more ’an four feet o’ water when the tide’s 
like this.” 

“Ay,” said Hal. “I know there ain’t, but she’s 
trying it,” he added stubbornly. 

“Why, so she be.” Ben Farran put the glass at 
last safely to his eye and spoke in amazement. “ But 
she won’t do it,” he added with a certain enjoyment. 
“ She can’t do it. There’s only one man as I’ve heard 
of who’d try it,” he continued, “and it ain’t likely 
to be him at this time o’ day.” 

“Ah!” said Hal, “and who’s that?” 

“Dick Delfazio—him as they call Black’erchief 
Dick—but it ain’t likely to be him, as I said.” 

Hal nodded. 

“I’ve heard of him,” he said. “Lands his stuff at 
the Victory, don’t he?” 

The old man grunted. 

“I don’t know that,” he said. “All I know is I 
don’t see any of it. Lord,” he added, as he had 
another look through the glass, “ ’tis the Coldlight , 
though—sithering fool. He’ll lead the Preventative 
men on the Island after him one o’ these days.” 

“He’ll never get down to the fleet with the tide 
like this, whoever he is,” said the boy, staring out 
curiously at the white-sailed craft. 

“Ah! you’re right there,” said Ben. “Curse the 
fool, he’ll get her stuck fast in the mud and have to 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


21 


stay all night. Lord!” he added, “when these wars 
be over there’ll be a deal more care taken in the trade, 
take my word for it. Why, this ain’t smuggling, it’s 
free trading.” 

But the boy was not listening to him; his eyes were 
fixed on the Coldlight, now well in view. 

“Look!” he said suddenly, “look, she’s turning.” 

“Eh? What? Eh? So she is!” ejaculated the 
old man in a frenzy of excitement. “Do ’ee think 
she be coming here—eh?” 

Hal spoke slowly, his eyes on the brig. 

“Ay,” he said, “you’re right, she’s making for 
East—who did you say she was?” 

“The Coldlight —the Coldlight , lad, commanded 
by the finest man in the trade—oh, my boy, the 
Island will swim in good Jamaica this night,” and he 
dropped the telescope, which fell clattering to the 
boards. 

Hal picked it up and turned to give it to the old 
man, but he was off, tottering to the hatchway. 
There, kneeling on the deck and poking his head 
down, he called whiningly, “Pet! Pet! my own, will 
you come up and hear what I have to tell you? 
Great—great news, Pet.” Receiving no answer he 
tried again while the boy stood looking at him. 

“Pretty old Pet, queen of my heart, Pet, my Pet, 
come up.” 

Still no answer, save for the patter of raindrops 
on the boat. 

“I’m sorry I beat you, Pet—although I’m damned 


22 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


if I am, the ronyon!” he added to himself. Still all 
beneath the hatches was silent as the grave. 

Swearing softly, the old man crawled over to the 
ladder and began to descend. 

Hal heard him reach the bottom and stumble off. 

The boy looked out to sea, where the brig was 
making slowly for the Eastern Creek. He stood 
looking at her for a second or two and then sprang 
round suddenly as though someone had called him. 

Where was Anny ? In the excitement of watching 
the brig he had forgotten her. His face flushing with 
remorse he raced to the hatchway and was just in 
time to help his sweetheart, pale and frightened, up 
on to the deck. 

“Oh, Hal, how he has beaten her!” she said, as 
she moved quickly over to the rope ladder and 
climbed hastily down without once looking behind. 

“Could she speak to thee?” he asked as he slid 
to the ground after her. 

“Ay,” she nodded her head fearfully. 

“Did she curse thee much?” 

“Ay,” she nodded again. 

Hal smiled. 

“Art afraid?” he enquired tenderly. 

Anny looked up at him before she pulled his arm 
about her waist. 

“Nay,” she said, “not while I have thee, Hal.” 

He kissed her before he spoke again. 

“I suppose Ben was plaguing her to meet the 
Coldlight and beg a keg?” he said. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


23 

Anny nodded again. Then she said quickly: 
“Come, lad, we must back to the Ship if company be 
expected.” 

“Wouldst rather serve rum to the company than 
walk to the shore with me, lass?” 

The grip round her waist tightened and she 
laughed. 

“If thou wert a wench, Hal, thou wouldst be a 
jade,” she said. “Come, Master Gilbot will be 
scuttering this way and that, and Mistress Sue, loath 
to leave Big French, will have the skin flayed off* 
everyone in the place if we’re not there to help her.” 

“Thou’rt a great lass, Anny,” said the boy, smiling. 
“When we are married there’ll not be an inn in the 
country to equal ours.” 

The girl laughed happily. 

“Ay, when we are married, Hal,” she said. 


CHAPTER III 


“Oh, I called her Mary Loo, 

And she shwore that she’d be true, 
Until I took to rum and went to shea; 
Then she goed along wi’ he, 

And forgot all love for me, 

Sho I stayed wi’ me rum and me shea, 
Sho I stayed wi’ me rum and me shea.” 



ILBOT, landlord of the Ship, sat before a 


roaring fire in his comfortable kitchen, sing- 


ing in a quavering, tipsy voice, and beating 
out the accompaniment with an empty pot on one 


podgy knee. 


It was six o’clock in the evening, and already the 
tallow dips had been lighted. They cast a flickering, 
friendly glow over the scene, the long, low room, 
stone-flagged and small-windowed, the ale barrels 
and rum kegs neatly arranged side by side on a form 
which ran nearly all the way round the wall, and the 
two long, trestled tables, flanked with high-backed 
seats which were now unoccupied, but were presently * 
to be filled with the best company that the east of 
the Island could provide. 

Besides Gilbot, who appeared happily oblivious 
of all around him, four other persons sat in the Ship 
kitchen: two old men threw dice for pence in one 


24 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


25 

corner, while in another, between two rum kegs, 
sat a girl. She was about twenty-three years of age, 
and, although her appearance was not of that un¬ 
common type so marked in Anny Farran, yet she 
had a certain quiet comeliness and gentle expression 
which made her almost beautiful. At least the hand¬ 
some young giant who lounged near her in an ecstasy 
of shyness appeared to think so, for he eyed her so 
intently, his mouth partly open, that she was forced 
to pay more attention to the garment she was patch¬ 
ing than was strictly necessary. They sat in perfect 
silence for some ten minutes before the young man 
plucked up courage to speak. When he did, his 
voice came uncomfortably from his throat, and he 
reddened to the roots of his hair. 

“I reckon I’ll be going up west now, Mistress 
Sue,” he said, as he half rose to his feet and looked 
toward the door. 

“Oh!”—there was a note of real regret in the girl’s 
voice—“must you go so early, Master French?” 

Big French sat down again quickly. 

“Nay,” he said shortly, and there was silence 
again for another minute or so. 

She stitched busily the while. 

“Is it great business you have in the west, Master 
French?” she said at last, her eyes still on her work. 

French discovered suddenly that it was easier to 
talk to her if she was not looking at him. 

“Ay,” he said. “Black’erchief Dick will get in 
to-morrow.” 


26 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


Sue sighed. 

“Ah!” she said, “you have a fine life, Master 
French, travelling to and fro the way you do.” 

Big French beamed delightedly. 

“Ay,” he said, “a fine life, but dangerous,” he 
added quickly, “very dangerous.” 

The girl looked at him appraisingly. 

“But you are so strong, Master French, what have 
you to fear from footpads—you’re in more danger 
from pretty wenches, I warrant,” she said, as she 
shot a sidelong glance at him. 

French reddened and smiled sheepishly; then he 
suddenly grew grave and his gray eyes regarded her 
earnestly. 

“Wenches? Mistress Sue,” he said, “nay! One 
wench—that’s all.” 

It was Sue’s turn to redden now and she did so 
very charmingly, and French, noting her confusion, 
immediately bethought him of his own, and he sat 
fidgeting, his eyes on the tips of his untanned leather 
boots. 

“I’ll be forth to Tiptree market this week if Black- 
’erchief Dick’s brought aught but rum from Brest,” 
he said at last, “and if there be aught you may be 

wanting from thence, Mistress-?” His voice 

trailed off* on the question as he studied his boot-toe 
attentively. 

She smiled as she laid a brown hand on his arm, 
thereby causing him much nervous disquietude. 

“Come back before you go—er—Ezekiel”—Big 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


27 

French started pleasurably at the sound of his Chris¬ 
tian name—“and if I have bethought me of aught 
we need from Tiptree, I will be glad if you will get 
it for me,” she said. 

Big french took the hand that was resting on his 
sleeve in one big fist and his other arm slid round 
the girl’s waist unhindered. 

“Sue,” he said softly, “will ye- 

“ Sho I stayed zvi me rum and me shea ,” 

sang Gilbot, suddenly waking up from the doze he 
had fallen into. “Shue,” he called, “more rum, 
lass.” 

The girl jumped up to obey him, and Big French 
swore softly under his breath. 

Two or three seamen entered the kitchen at this 
moment, and, after saluting Gilbot, called for drinks 
and settled themselves in the high-backed seats on 
either side of the fire. They began to talk noisily of 
their own affairs. 

Sue opened an inner door and called for more lights. 
Gilbot, happy with his rum, continued to sing. 

Big French rose slowly to his feet. He was an 
enormous figure, some six feet five inches tall and pro¬ 
portionately broad; his face as the light from the 
dripping candles fell on it showed clearly cut and very 
handsome. He wore his hair long and his chin had 
never been shaved, so that his beard was as silky as 
his hair, curly and of the colour of clear honey. He 
walked over to the door after exchanging greetings 



28 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


with the rowdy crew at the fireside, and lifted the 
latch. On the threshold he was met by Hal and 
Anny. 

They had walked briskly, and the cool air had 
brought the colour to the girl’s face and, as she stood 
there, the men at the fireside, instead of clamouring 
for the door to be shut and the draught stayed, sat 
looking at her in silent admiration. 

Hal Grame, standing just behind her, was the 
first to speak. He stepped forward, shutting the 
door behind him. 

“Black’erchief Dick, aboard the Coldlight , will be 
putting into the Creek inside of an hour,” he said. 

Big French looked at him for a moment. 

“Black’erchief Dick coming here?” he said at 
last. 

Sue came forward to listen, and several men left 
the fireplace and joined the little group near the 
door. 

“Ay,” said Hal, “he couldn’t get down the fleet 
with the tide like this.” 

“Ah!” said French. 

“He couldn’t rest in the Channel for twelve hours 
or so, now could he?” continued Hal. 

“Ah, you’re right there, lad,” said one of the men, 
pressing forward. “Black’erchief Dick would risk 
most things, but he’s no fool.” 

Big French scratched his head thoughtfully. 

“Ah,” he said slowly, “he’s no fool, that’s right 
enough.” Then he looked at Sue furtively out of 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 29 

the corner of his eye. “He’ll be coming up here I 
reckon,” he said. 

Sue shrugged her shoulders. 

“Well,” she said, “we’ve rum enough for any for¬ 
eigner, and, if we ain’t as fine as the Victory, our 
liquor’s as good.” 

“Eh, what’s that?” Old Gilbot pricked up his 
ears, the pewter-pot halfway to his lips. “Not as 
fine as the Victory, lass? Who says we ain’t as fine 
as the Victory, any day? Eh? Anywaysh,” he 
added, his face hidden in the nearly empty tankard, 
“anywaysh, we’ve prettier wenches.” 

“You’re right, host—here, rum all round and 
drink to the wenches.” Big French, his hand in his 
breeches pocket, spoke loudly and the coins jingled 
as he planked them down on the table, and the two 
girls hastened to draw the rum. 

“The wenches!” shouted French, one big foot on 
the form and his tankard held high above his head. 

“The wenches!” roared the company. 

“The wenches!” piped Gilbot happily from his 
corner. 

This pleasant ceremony took some minutes, and 
Sue and Anny stood together smiling at each other, 
neither giving a thought to the little dark-skinned, 
white-handed Spaniard who was sailing under full 
canvas toward their home. 

“I’ll go down to the hard to meet Black’erchief,” 
said French at last, wiping his beard with a green 
handkerchief. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


30 

“I’M with you.” “And I.” “And I.” Most of 
the company rose and followed the young Goliath 
to the door. 

“Goo’-bye,” said Gilbot, waving his pot. “Come 
back soon.” 

The men laughed and promised. 

“The owd devil,” said one man to another as he 
shut the door behind them. “The owd devil hasn’t 
been sober these four years.” And they went off” 
laughing. 

“What manner of fellow is that they call Black- 
’erchief Dick’?” said Anny, as she collected the 
empty tankards from the tables. 

“A devil,” said one of the men at the fireside. 

“Oh!” Anny was not impressed. She had met 
many strangers who had been described to her as 
devils, and not one to her mind had lived up to the 
description. 

“Oh!” said Hal, as he piled fresh logs in the open 
grate. “ ’Tis only a foreigner, some Spanish dog or 
other.” 

The man who had spoken before shook his 
head. 

“Ah, you be careful, lad. Dick ain’t the chap to 
make a foe of in a hurry,” he said. 

Anny paused for a moment. 

“Is he a big man, sir?” she asked. 

Sue interposed quickly. 

“Not as big as Master French, I reckon,” she said 
defiantly. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


3 i 


The man laughed. 

“Big as French?” he said. “Lord! he ain't no 
bigger than you, Anny." 

“Oh!" the two girls looked at one another and 
laughed. 

“Marry, I reckon he's a devil without horns then. 
Master Granger," said Sue. 

Granger spat before he spoke again. 

“I don't know about horns, Mistress," he said, 
“but I reckon his knife is good enough for him— 
ah, and for me, too, for that matter," he added. 

Anny laughed again. 

“ 'Twould not be enough for me anyway," she said, 
fixing a stray curl over her ear as she spoke. 

Sue looked at her strangely. It was impossible 
not to like this beautiful wild little creature, in 
whom her uncle, Gilbot, had taken such an interest. 
Yet she could not help wishing that the younger girl 
had been more careful. She was so young, so very 
beautiful, and the company which came to the Ship 
was not the best in the world. 

Sue shrugged her shoulders. It was not her 
business, she told herself, but her eyes followed Anny 
almost pityingly as the little maid moved across the 
room to speak to Gilbot. 

“Master Gilbot," Anny said, “should we prepare 
a bedchamber for the gentleman?" 

Old Gilbot looked at her over the rim of the tank¬ 
ard; then he took one of her hands. 

“Thou art a pretty wench, Anny," he observed 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


32 

solemnly. “Will ’ee fetch me another stoup of liquor, 
lass?” he added, brightening up in anticipation. 

Anny did as she was told and then repeated her 
question. 

“Eh? Bedchamber? Eh? What?” said the old 
man, his brows screwed into knotted lines, and he 
seemed troubled; after a few minutes, however, “Oh! 
ashk Hal,” he said, his face clearing. “Ashk Hal 
everything.” 

He looked across at the boy affectionately. 

“Shly dog,” he murmured, “keepsh me in liquor 
all day long sho he can get the Ship. Ho-ho-ho!” 
he laughed, shaking all over. “ Shly dog—shly dog.” 

Hal laughed with him and then discussed with 
Anny and Sue the various arrangements for the 
reception of the visitors. Having settled everything 
to their satisfaction they joined the group about the 
fire, where the talk was still running on the Spaniard. 

“Wonderful fighter,” one man was saying. “Oh, 
a wonderful fighter, take my word for it.” 

“Ah, you’re right,” said another. “I saw him 
kill a man with a knife throw one time. From right 
the other side of the room it was. That was in a 
house in Brest, in ’59,” he added reminiscently. 

“How old do you reckon him?” said the first 
man curiously. “I’ve not known him more’n a year 
or so.” 

“Well,” the other man’s tone was dubious. “He 
says he’s thirty and I shouldn’t say more. No, I 
shouldn’t say so much—though it’s wonderful the 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


33 

way he manages them foreign dogs he mans his brig 
with.” 

Hal joined in the conversation. 

“They're a rough lot, I expect,” he said. 

The men round the fire laughed. 

“You're right there, lad,” said one. “Keep your 
eye on the rum and lasses to-night. Wonderful 
rough lot they are,” he added. “Oh, wonderful 
rough!” 

Hal flushed. 

“I reckon the lasses can look after theirselves,” 
he said gruffly. 

Anny put her hand on his shoulder. 

“Ay,” she said, “maybe we can, but where's the 
need of us troubling when you're by?” 

“Bravo, Anny, lass. The girl has wit as well as 
beauty,” said the man addressed as Granger from 
his seat in the chimney corner, whence he had moved 
to make room for Sue. 

“Ay, a fine wench,” said Gilbot, waking for a 
moment; the others laughed and the talk continued 
cheerily. 

“Evening to you all.” The speaker was a man 
dressed in the usual fisherman's guernsey and 
breeches. He stood in the doorway, looking in on 
the company round the fire and smiling affably. 

Hal looked up quickly and seeing who it was rose 
at once to meet him. 

“Evening, Joe,” he said cheerily. “Come, sit 
down; what'll you drink?” 


34 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

Joseph Pullen smiled and took the seat offered 
him, and named his choice. 

Anny was up in a moment to serve him, and his 
eyes followed her as she flitted hither and thither, 
with a smile for one and a jest for another, laughing 
happily the while. He looked across at Hal. 

“Ah, you’re a lucky one, mate,” he observed in a 
hoarse whisper. 

The boy smiled. 

“Amy been at you again?” he enquired. 

It was well known that Joe and his wife, Amy, 
were not a happy couple. 

The other looked round him. 

“She’s a shrew and no mistake, Hal,” he said 
softly. 

Hal laughed. 

“You’re right,” he said. “But cheer thyself,” he 
added, as Anny brought a tankard. “Look’ee, Joe, 
did ever you set eyes on a man called Black’erchief 
Dick?” 

“I did that”—Joe’s face appeared red above the 
pot—“and I set eyes on one of his mange-struck crew 
as well,” he said fiercely. 

“Ah, and who might that be?” Granger inquired. 

“A black-bearded old Spanish villain called Blue- 
neck. Yes, and what’s more, I set eyes on him kiss¬ 
ing my wife.” 

A roar of laughter greeted this outburst, and Joe 
looked discomforted. 

“I stopped it, of course,” he remarked. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


35 

Another roar shook the building. Joe reddened 
again. 

“I don’t see why you’re a-laughing,” he said 
gruffly. 

The men round the fire laughed again. 

“I can manage my wife better nor any man here 
and I’m willing to prove it with these,” he said, 
putting up two bony fists. 

The laughter died away and no one spoke for a 
moment or so. Then Joe, all his anger vanished as 
suddenly as it had come, remarked, “Black’erchief 
Dick, eh? Where did you hear of him? I didn’t 
know he ever came up east.” 

“Nor don’t he as a rule,” said Hal, “but he has 
had to put in here owing to the tide. I reckon he’ll 
be up here soon.” 

“Ah, will he now?” Joe’s eyebrows rose expres¬ 
sively, then he put down his mug. “Did you say he 
was putting in here—crew and all?” he asked, wiping 
his mouth. 

“Ay,” said Hal, “I reckon so.” 

“Ah,” said Joe again, “I’ll be going back to home,” 
he announced suddenly. 

Then, as some knowing smiles appeared on the faces 
in the firelight, he added, “Ah, you can laugh, but 
take my word for it, you keep your wenches clear of 
Spaniards. They have wonderful ways with women.” 
He walked to the door. “See you afore the night’s 
over, Hal,” he called cheerily as he went out. 

Under cover of the laughter which burst out as he 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


36 

shut the door behind him, Anny whispered to Hal, 
who was making up the fire, “I would not change 
thee for the King o’ the Spaniards, lad,” and he, 
turning suddenly to look at her, knew that she spoke 
truth. 


CHAPTER IV 


M ARRY! Fortune favours her lovers! Greet¬ 
ings, Master French. Damn my knife! 
there is not another on the Island I would 
rather see than thee at this moment.” 

Black’erchief Dick stepped out of the open row¬ 
boat which had conveyed him from the Coldlight and 
gave a small white hand to Big French, who assisted 
him on to the board pathway which was laid over the 
soft mud. 

“Greetings to you, Captain,” said the young man, 
and then added slowly, “you’re somewhat before your 
time, ain’t you?” 

Black’erchief Dick broke into a storm of curses. 
“Ay,” he said at last, “ay, too early for the tide 
and so forsooth compelled—I, Dick Delfazio, com¬ 
pelled, mark you—to put in at this God-forsaken 
corner”—he took in the marshland with a compre¬ 
hensive wave of a graceful arm, and continued 
sneering—“which is as flat and empty as a new- 
washed platter.” 

The big man at his side smiled. 

“Nay, prithee, Captain,” he said, “ ’tis none so 
bad.” 


37 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


38 

The Spaniard turned to him fiercely, but Big 
French went on quietly: “If you be a wanting to 
stay the brig here for the next tide,” he said, “best 
to take her up the Pyfleet round to the back o’ the 
Ship—plenty o’ water up there,” he added. 

Black’erchief Dick shrugged his shoulders. 

“The Pyfleet?” he said. “Surely that is Captain 
Fen de Witt’s haven? I would not take advantage 
of his hiding-place.” 

The smile on the big man’s face vanished. 

“Lord, Captain!” he said quickly, “you cannot 
leave the brig in open channel all the night. The 
Preventative folk may not be very spry hereabouts, 
but they ain’t all dead yet—no, not by a long way 
they ain’t.” 

The Spaniard replied with another shrug. 

“As you wish,” he said, and then with a smile, his 
teeth flashing in the dusk, he added: “But that I 
need thee to-night, Master Hercules, I would not so 
easily have yielded.” 

Big French flushed but he spoke quietly. 

“Ah, and what will you be wanting to-night, 
Captain?” he said. 

“Passage in thy cart to the Victory, friend,” re¬ 
plied the Spaniard. 

“Oh!” Big French spoke dubiously. “Why do 
you not rest at the Ship?” he enquired. 

“The Ship?” the thin lips curled in contempt. 
“Dick Delfazio stay at a wayside tavern? This 
moon hath made thee mad, friend French.” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


39 

Big French sighed involuntarily and the Spaniard 
laughed. 

“A wench ?” he asked. 

“Nay/’ the blood suffused the young man’s hand¬ 
some face and he spoke shortly. 

“Well, take me to the Victory,” repeated the 
Spaniard. 

An anxious snuff sounded at his elbow as he spoke. 
He turned quickly just in time to seize Habakkuk 
Coot by the neck of his guernsey. 

“You evil-smelling son of a rat,” he began slowly, 
giving the little man a shake at every word, “get 
thee back to the brig and tell Blueneck I would speak 
to him.” 

With the final word he jerked the wretch off the 
board pathway and watched him flounder in the deep 
oozing mud. 

“Haste thee, dog,” he said, touching him lightly 
with the blade of his knife. 

Habakkuk screamed and floundered on for the 
rowboat, where he was hauled in by several of his 
comrades. The boat then pushed off for the brig. 

“You have a wonderful way with your crew, 
Captain,” said French, looking after the boat, 

“Ay, of a truth,” the Spaniard laughed. “Cannot 
Dick Delfazio rule a pack of mangy dogs?” 

French looked at him narrowly, and then took up 
the conversation where he had left it. 

“The Ship is no wayside tavern,” he said. “The 
folk be simple but the liquor good and the wenches 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


40 

pretty, and they are waiting for you to come—the 
maids in their best caps, and the canary warming on 
the hearth.” 

Dick looked at him for a moment. 

“Master French,” he said, keeping his glittering 
eyes on the other’s face. “ Master French, ’tis strange 
that thou should’st be in this part of the Island so 
ready for my coming, Master French,” he added, his 
voice assuming the soft caressing quality for which it 
was so remarkable. “Dare I suppose that it was not 
to meet me that thou earnest to the East? That it 
was to the Ship thou earnest, eh, Master French?” 

Once again the big man blushed to his ears but 
he laughed. 

“Ay, Captain,” he said, “you are right there. 
’Twas not to meet you I came to the East. Prithee 
tell your men to take the brig down the Pyfleet and 
come with me to the Ship.” 

The Spaniard laughed strangely. 

“Friend French,” he said, “are thy horses lame?” 

The young man looked at him for a moment before 
he spoke. 

“Ay,” he said at last. “Wonderful lame.” 

Black’erchief Dick threw back his head and 
laughed heartily. 

“Thou art a brave man, French,” he said, but con¬ 
tinued quickly: “There is such a lameness as can 
be cured to-morrow for a trip to Tiptree, eh, friend ?” 

“Ah!” said the big man, nodding his head sagely, 
“ ’tis a wonderful strange lameness that they have.” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


4i 


Dick nodded. 

By this time the rowboat had once more come 
to the plank across the mud. Blueneck, a shadowy 
figure in the darkness, stepped out and came toward 
them. 

Dick gave his orders briefly. 

“Take the brig up the Pyfleet,” he said. “Any of 
these fellows will pilot thee,” he added, pointing to 
the group of Mersea men on the wall. Then as an 
afterthought, “and bring five kegs from the hold to 
me at the Ship Tavern.” 

A certain amount of enthusiasm among the volun¬ 
teer pilots was noticeable after this last remark, and 
Blueneck smiled as he replied, “Ay, ay, Cap’n.” 

Black’erchief Dick and his friend Big French, the 
smuggler’s carter, turned, climbed the wall, and 
walked together down the lonely road to the Ship 
Tavern without speaking. 

“Marry!” said Dick, stopping after they had 
walked for some five minutes, his hand feeling for his 
knife. “What’s that?” 

Big French stopped also and, standing side by side 
in the middle of the road, they listened intently. 
Apparently just behind the hedge on their right a 
human voice, deep and throaty, said clearly, “Rum 
—rum—rum—rum,” the sound trailing off weirdly 
on the last word. 

The Spaniard crossed himself, but his hand was 
steady. 

“Is’t a spirit?” he said. 


42 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

“Nay,” Big French’s voice came stifled from his 
mouth. 

The Spaniard drew his knife. “Then I’ll have at 
it,” he said. 

Once again the stifled monosyllable broke from 
the younger man’s lips. 

Black’erchief Dick looked at his guide quickly. 
By the faint light of the winter moon he saw the man’s 
face was distorted strangely—once again the ghostly 
voice behind the hedge said distinctly, “ Rum—rum— 
ru-.” 

“Ho! ho! ho!” roared French, his laughter sud¬ 
denly breaking forth. “Peace, Mother Swayle,” he 
shouted, “by our lakin! you had us well-nigh feared 
with your greeting.” 

The Spaniard sheathed his knife. 

“If ’tis a friend of thine, Master French,” he said, 
shrugging his shoulders, “ ’tis of no offence to me. 
Though by my faith,” he added, as a dark figure in 
flowing garments bounded over the hedge and stood 
by the roadside, “ ’tis strange company you keep.” 

The tall gaunt woman addressed as Mother Swayle 
shrank back into the hedge. 

“Who is it with thee, Big French?” she said in her 
deep, tired voice. 

“Black’erchief Dick, new landed by the wall,” said 
French. 

“Ah! I know naught of him—Peace, good swine 
—farewell, Rum!” 

There was a note of finality in the last word and 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


43 

Big French started to walk on. “ Rum,” he said over 
his shoulder, and added to Dick in an undertone, 
“ Tis only a poor crone—peace to her—her wit’s 
diseased.” 

“Oh!” the Spaniard felt the pocket of his coat and 
pulled out a silver dollar. “Here, mother of sin,” 
he said as he tossed it to her, “buy thyself rum withal. 
Almsgiving is a noble virtue,” he added piously to 
French as they prepared to walk on. Hardly had 
the words left his lips when his silver dollar hit him 
on the back of the head with considerable force. 

“May you burn, you mange-struck ronyon,” the 
deep voice grew shrill in its intensity. “All men are 
villains and you are a king among them.” 

With a foreign oath the Spaniard turned about. 

“Rum—rum—r-u-m,” the voice faded away and 
they heard the patter of feet down the road. 

Black’erchief Dick laughed sharply. 

“It is well for Mother Swayle that she lives in the 
East,” he said, his eyes glittering. “Were she in 

the West she would take my bounty, if not-” He 

laughed unpleasantly. 

Big French looked at him anxiously, uncertain how 
the fiery Spaniard had taken the old woman’s 
vagaries. 

“The old one was ducked as a witch in the merry¬ 
making at the Restoring of the King,” he said at last. 
“She was not quite drowned,” he continued, “so the 
folk—wenches mostly—look up to her and as I said, 
Captain, her wit’s diseased.” 


44 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


Dick shrugged his silken-coated shoulders. 

“ ’Tis no matter,” he said with a wave of his hand. 

Big French sighed in relief and they walked on 
in silence for a minute or so. They were now some 
four hundred yards from the Ship. The high build¬ 
ing with its great thatch showed a dark outline 
against the cold starlight, but all the uncurtained 
lower windows showed the warm glow within and 
from the partly open door the sound of singing came 
out to them on the cold breeze. 

The two unconsciously hastened their steps. 
When they reached the gate of the courtyard the 
words of the song could be heard clearly above the 
noise of laughter and banging of pewter. 

“Pretty Poll she loved a sailor ” 

Gilbot’s voice was piping a little in advance of the 
rest. 


“And well she loved he, 

But he sailed to the mouth 
Of a stream in the South 
And was losht in the rolling sea. 

And was losht in the rolling sea.” 

Dick straightened his lace ruffles at his throat. 
“The dogs seem merry,” he observed as he kicked 
open the door and stepped into the candle-lit kitchen 
of the Ship. 

All eyes were immediately turned on him, and he 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


45 

stood perfectly still for some seconds enjoying to the 
full the impression he was making. 

The Ship’s company was used to the simple finery 
of Captain Fen de Witt and his men, and most of 
them had been to the western end of the Island and 
had seen strangers who had come, it was whispered, 
from London itself, but Dick’s magnificence was 
wholly new to most of them, while even those who 
had seen him before were surprised at the contrast 
which his glistening figure made with the sombre 
background of the Ship kitchen’s smoke-blackened 
walls. 

Hal stood staring at him as long as any of the 
others, and Mistress Sue let the rum she was drawing 
fill up one of the great pewter tankards and spill over 
on to the stones before she noticed it, so intently did 
she look at the stranger in the doorway. 

Gilbot alone took no notice of the visitor. He 
sat happily in his place by the fireside, his head 
thrown back a little and his eyes closed, beating time 
to imaginary singing with his empty pot. 

Joe Pullen was the first to speak. He had just 
entered by a side door and apparently was entirely 
unimpressed by the Spaniard or any one else. 

“Evening,” he remarked, as he walked over to the 
most comfortable seat in the chimney-corner and sat 
down. “Evening to you too, sir,” he said, noticing 
Dick for the first time—and then he added, peering 
out of the fireplace, “Mistress Sue, a rum if you 
please.” 


46 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

Black’erchief Dick, noting that the spell was 
broken, swaggered forward into the firelight. 

“Greeting, friends,” he said courteously, and then 
after looking round curiously his eyes rested on 
Gilbot. “Is this mine host?” he asked. 

Gilbot’s eyes opened slowly and his jaw dropped 
as he saw for the first time the splendidly garbed 
figure. 

“Eh?” he said at last. “Washt?” He tried to 
rise but gave it up as an impossibility, his brow 
clouded, and he turned his tankard upside down on 
his knee. 

Dick stood looking at him, a slight smile hovering 
round his mouth and twitching the sides of his big 
Jewish nose. 

Gilbot’s face cleared as suddenly as it had clouded. 

“Ashk Hal,” he said triumphantly, and leaning 
back once more he closed his eyes. 

The Spaniard shrugged his shoulders. 

“You mistress?” he said, turning to Sue who 
dropped a curtsey. “Can I have a bedchamber here 
this night?” 

Sue replied that all was ready for him, and Dick, 
having assured himself that everything was to his 
liking, put his hand into his pocket and drawing out 
a handful of gold and silver coins tossed them lightly 
on the table. 

“Drinks all round, I pray you, mistress,” he said. 

There was a slight stir among the company, and 
the Spaniard was regarded with still more respect. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


47 

Sue stood looking at the coins, her hands on her 
hips. “ ’Tis much too much,” she murmured. 

Black’erchief Dick laughed. 

“Marry! Then, mistress, ’twill do for the next 
lot. I pray thee haste, my throat is parched,” he 
said. 

Sue, her eyes round with admiration, curtseyed 
again and ran to the inner door. 

“Anny, lass, come hither I prithee,” she called, and 
then hastened to obey the Spaniard. 

Anny stepped in unnoticed a moment or two later, 
and busied herself with the tankards. 

Dick was sitting with his back toward her and she 
did not see him. 

“Here, lass,” said Sue, seeing her, “the foreigner 
would drink sack—wilt get it for him?” 

There was not much call for Canary sack at the 
Ship, so Anny was some minutes finding and tapping 
a cask. When she returned from the cellar, a flagon 
in her hand, the talk had become more animated and 
one or two lively spirits had started a song, but above 
the noise a voice penetrating although musical was 
saying loudly, “Marry, Master French, do you never 
drink aught but rum in the East that a gentleman is 
kept waiting ten minutes for a cup of sack?” 

French’s deep tones replied slowly: 

“Nay, Captain, very little else but rum; sack be 
only for gentlefolk.” 

Anny hastened forward. 

“Here’s for you, sir,” she said briskly, and then 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


48 

stopped, awe-struck before the Spaniard, dazzled by 
his appearance. 

Black’erchief Dick stretched out a white jewelled 
hand for the tankard without looking at the girl. 

“Thank thee, mistress,” he said carelessly, lifting 
it to his lips. 

Still Anny did not move and Hal Grame, looking 
up from the rum keg which he was tapping, cursed 
the Spaniard’s clothes with that honest venom which 
is only known to youth. 

“Ah, a good draught!” The Spaniard put down 
the pot and touched his lips with a lace-edged hand¬ 
kerchief. 

“Mistress, another by your leave,” he said sud¬ 
denly. Then his gaze, too, became fixed, his dark 
eyes taking in every detail of her face. 

“God’s Fool!” he exclaimed. “Mistress, you are 
wondrous fair.” 

Anny blushed and, her senses returning to her, 
she curtseyed and taking up the empty tankard 
tripped off with a gentle—“As you wish,” as she 
went. 

Black’erchief Dick stared after her for a second 
or two before he turned to French. 

“By my faith, Master French, you have no poor 
skill in choosing a wench,” he said. 

Big French laughed and reddened. 

“Oh!” he said carelessly. “’Tis not she but the 
other I would have favour from.” 

The Spaniard darted a look of misbelief at his 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


49 

big companion, but he said nothing, for Anny had 
returned and was standing before him, a brimming 
tankard in her hand. 

Black’erchief Dick took the wine and set it by 
untasted, but retained the brown hand which was 
even smaller than his own and held it firmly. 

“Mistress,” he said, and Anny thought she had 
never seen such bright merry eyes, “would you deem 
it an offence if I asked you your name?” 

Anny smiled and curtseyed as she pulled away 
her hand. 

“There be no more offence in asking my name 
than in holding my hand, sir,” she said. “ ’Tis Anny 
Farren, an you please so.” 

“Anny, a good name and a simple,” said the 
Spaniard, choosing to ignore the first remark. “ Now 
tell me, fair Anny,” he continued, “hast ever been 
told how beautiful thou art?” 

The girl looked round. No one in the noisy com¬ 
pany round the fire was listening to them and a 
gleam of mischief twinkled in her eyes before she 
dropped them as she turned again to the Span¬ 
iard. 

“Nay, sir,” she said. “Neither has my mirror.” 

“Then ’tis a right vile and lying thing, mistress,” 
said Dick, “for by my knife”—here he drew the 
slender thing from his chased silver belt and held it 
up to the light—“I never saw a comelier lass than 
thee.” 

Anny looked at the knife curiously. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


50 

1 “ ’Tis a pretty weapon you have, sir,” she said 

innocently. 

Dick laughed. 

“Pretty!” he said. “Ah, fair Anny, I would not 
send the blood from those bright cheeks of thine by 
telling thee what this same dagger and this right 
hand have together accomplished.” 

“Oh, never mind the wenches, Captain, let’s have 
the story,” said one of the group at the fire, the com¬ 
pany’s attention having been drawn to the Spaniard 
on the appearance of the knife. Black’erchief Dick 
stood up. 

“Sack for everyone,” he said grandiloquently as 
he threw another handful of coins on the tressled 
table. And then as the tankards were passed round, 
“To the fairest wench on the Island, Fair Anny of 
the Ship,” he said, lifting his tankard above his 
head. 

The toast was given with a will. The Spaniard 
was in a fair way to win popularity. 

“ ’Tis a fine gentleman, Hal,” whispered Anny to 
her sweetheart under cover of the general hub-bub. 

“Ay, a deal too fine,” replied the boy, putting a 
pot down with such violence that all the others rat¬ 
tled and clinked against one another with the shock. 

Anny laughed. 

“Thou art very foolish, O Hal o’ mine,” she said 
softly. 

“There be more tales to tell o’ this dagger than 
will suffice for one evening.” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


5i 

The Spaniard’s voice was once more raised in a 
flaunting tone. “Let it be enough,” he continued, 
“to say that it hath some ninety lives to answer 
for.” 

There was a general gasp at this information and 
a slow smile spread over Black’erchief Dick’s face 
as he noted their amazement. 

“It will be wonderful old I reckon?” Joe Pullen 
put the question quietly, but as though he expected 
an answer in the affirmative. 

“Nay,” the Spaniard smiled again, “’twas of my 
own killings I was talking,” he said. 

“Oh!” Joe Pullen leant back and closed his eyes 
as though bored with the conversation. 

This procedure seemed to irritate the Spaniard, 
for he said suddenly, “Look, friend, ’tis a fair 
weapon,” and he threw the glittering thing at the 
man in the high-backed seat with a seemingly careless 
jerk of the wrist. The dagger shot through the air, 
a streak of glistening steel, and fastened itself in the 
wood half an inch above Joe’s head. 

Sue shrieked, but there was a murmur of admira¬ 
tion at the feat from the men looking on. 

Lazily Joe Pullen sat up and wrenched the blade 
out of the soft wood; he studied the dagger care¬ 
fully. 

“Ah!” he said at last, an expression of polite in¬ 
terest on his face, “a wonderful fine throw that, sir,” 
and then added, the knife poised delicately between 
a clumsy thumb and forefinger, “I wonder now could 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


52 

I do that?” He raised his hand and appeared to 
be taking aim directly at the Spaniard’s head. 

“And was losht in the rolling sea y ” 

murmured Gilbot, his head fell forward on his chest 
and his pot, slipping off his knee, fell clattering on 
the stones. The noise woke him, and he looked 
up just in time to see Pullen, knife in hand, standing 
in the middle of the room. 

“Eh? eh?” the old man’s voice had the remnant 
of a note of authority in it. “Put down t’ knife, lad. 
Ain’t no good in knives.” His head fell forward 
on his chest again. “Why not shing happy shong?” 
he mumbled. 

Joe grinned. “Ah,” he said slowly, “maybe the 
old’n’s right.” He handed the knife to the Spaniard 
who took it without a word. “I might have hit you 
—I ain’t a very good hand wi’ knives,” he said 
pleasantly. 

The Spaniard smiled graciously. “Doubtless you 
will learn,” he said, his jauntiness returning, and 
then continuing, “Fair Mistress Anny, will you see 
these tapped?” and he pointed to five rum kegs 
which Blueneck, Habakkuk Coot, and one or two 
others of the Coldlight’s crew had just brought in. 
“Rum all round,” he said, “and the charge to me.” 

By the time his last command had been obeyed, 
the company in the Ship was more noisy than be¬ 
fore, and, answering to the call for a song, old Gilbot, 
having been assisted to his feet, leaned his back 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


53 

against the nearest ale barrel and quavered forth in 
a voice which evidently had once been very tuneful: 

“Oh, no one remembers poor Will 
Who shtayed by hish mate at the mill; 

He ground up more bonesh 
Than barley or stonesh, 

And more than old Rowley could kill .” 

“More bones, more bones,” roared the company 
as the rum flowed more freely. 

“More bones ! more bones ! 

And more than old Rowley could kill .” 

“Ah, ha, may the Lord bless ye, fine gentlemen, 
and could ye spare a drop o’ rum for a poor woman 
to take to her man who’s dying o’ the cold?” 

This request, uttered in a high-pitched whining 
voice coming from just behind the half-opened door, 
startled the revellers and they paused to listen, all 
eyes being fastened on the door. They watched it 
open a little farther, and round it just below the 
latch appeared the head of an old woman. The face, 
red and coarse, smiled leeringly, and the gray elf locks 
above it were matted and ill-kempt. 

Anny, who was standing near Black’erchief Dick, 
caught her breath. 

“Lord! ’Tis Pet Salt,” she whispered as she 
shrank against the table. 

The Spaniard dropped a hand over hers unnoticed 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


54 

by any one save Hal—“Why shudderest thou, 
wench ?” he said softly. Anny slipped her hand 
away. 

“ ’Tis naught,” she said. 

“Will ’ee spare a little rum, fair gentlemen?” 

The old woman came a little farther into the 
room, disclosing a body so bent and twisted as to be 
hardly human. She came nearer, the firelight flick¬ 
ered on her, and a murmur rose from the company, 
she was so ragged and scarred. The Spaniard looked 
at her critically, then he turned to French. 

“You have strange crones up this part of the 
Island, friend,” he observed. 

French laughed. 

“Oh, this one won’t treat your almsgiving the 
way Nan Swayle did,” he said. 

At the sound of the name, Nan Swayle, an extraor¬ 
dinary change came over the terrible old figure in 
the firelight. She straightened herself with a fearful 
effort and, her small eyes blazing with fury, broke 
forth into such a stream of horrible epithets that 
the rough company of the Ship looked at one another 
shamefacedly. 

“Peace, hag,” the Spaniard strode out from the 
crowd and touched the old woman with the tip of his 
forefinger. 

Pet Salt stopped, and, seeing the gaudy figure in 
front of her, fell on her knees and holding up a fat, 
begrimed hand recommenced her whining. 

Dick stood there for a second or two, and then 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


55 

turned his head. “Blueneck,” he said, “bring out 
a small rum keg.” 

The old woman fell snivelling at his feet. 

The Spaniard kicked her gently. 

“O mother of many evils,” he said, “get thee out 
of this room with thy keg, methinks the air stinks 
with thee.” 

Blueneck stepped forward, jerked the woman to 
her feet, and put the rum on the floor beside her. 
Mumbling blessings, thanks, and curses, she stumbled 
out of the open door, the keg clasped in her arms. 

Dick watched her go and then turning to Sue: 
“Mistress, I would wash my hands,” he said, looking 
at the tip of his forefinger. 

Sue ran to get water and the company began to 
break up for the night. 

“Good-night to J ee,” shouted Hal, as Joe Pullen 
went out, “may thy wife be sleeping sound.” 

“Would she were sleeping with a heavenly sound¬ 
ness, mate,” replied the other as he shut the door 
behind him. 

The crew of the Coldlight went oflF in a body to their 
ship, rolling and singing happily. 

Sue and Hal assisted the old landlord to his room, 
a nightly duty of theirs, and Anny flitted about 
getting candles for the visitors. 

Dick looked at Big French as they stood for a 
moment alone together before the dying fire. 

“Methinks thy horses will not have recovered 
from their lameness by to-morrow, friend French,” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


56 

he said, as Anny, two lighted candles in her hand, 
appeared at an inner doorway. 

French followed the direction of the other’s eyes, 
then he shrugged his broad shoulders. 

“As you wish, Captain,” he said carelessly, and 
wondered why the Spaniard should laugh so triumph¬ 
antly at his answer. 

Some minutes later all was still in the Ship Tavern. 
Hal Grame alone stood before the fast-graying em¬ 
bers in the kitchen, thinking miserably. For the 
first time since he could remember, his childhood’s 
sweetheart had forgotten to kiss him as she bade him 
good-night. 


CHAPTER V 


EXCELLENT repast, fair mistress, and one 
I warrant you well appreciated.” 

Black’erchief Dick pushed the empty plat¬ 
ter from before him, leaned back in his seat, and 
looked round the room with approval. 

It was six o’clock in the morning; and although 
only a faint grayish light was beginning to steal 
in the windows and the air was cool and slightly 
rum-tainted, the kitchen in the old Ship Inn pre¬ 
sented a cheerful and lively scene of domestic bustle. 
The fire, though newly lighted, blazed brightly and 
the logs, some with the hoar-frost still glittering on 
them, crackled and spat merrily. 

Hal, his boyish face glowing after a hasty splash 
at the well-nigh frozen pump, hastened to and fro 
from the scullery to the kitchen, bearing great trays 
of newly washed tankards, while Sue, a little paler 
than on the preceding night, but all the same retain¬ 
ing most of her usual good humour, her sleeves rolled 
high above her elbows and a sail-cloth apron tied 
about her waist, appeared from time to time in the 
open doorway between the kitchen and the back 
scullery, whence the pleasant smell of cooking 
emerged. 


57 


58 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


Gilbot was yet abed but his seat with its old hay- 
stuffed cushions was put in readiness for his coming, 
in his favourite corner by the fireplace. 

One of the long tressle-tables had been pulled out 
into the wider part of the room clear of the high- 
backed seats and it was here, one at either end 
of the table, that Black’erchief Dick and Big French 
sat in tall, wooden, box-like chairs, finishing the 
first meal of the day. 

Anny waited on them. 

This morning she was more beautiful than on the 
evening before. At least so thought the Spaniard 
as he watched her trip to and fro with a wooden 
platter or an earthen pitcher of home-brewed ale in 
her hands. Her cheeks seemed to him to have more 
colour in them, her little bare feet, as they pattered 
over the stones, more elasticity and lightness of 
touch, and her wonderful, shadowed green eyes, 
more mirth and gaiety than he had noticed before. 
As she moved about she sang little snatches of old 
songs in a lulling, childish voice, tuneful and sweet. 

“ My father s gone a-roving — a-roving — 
a-roving, 

My father s gone a-roving across the 
raging sea, 

With a feather in his stocking cap, 

A new son on his rocking lap, 

My father s gone a-roving and never 
thinks o’ me.” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


59 

The Spaniard’s white fingers kept time to the 
simple refrain almost without his knowing it; he 
caught himself silently repeating the words after her, 
and he laughed abruptly and then looked round him 
so fiercely that none dared ask the jest. 

It was absurd, he told himself, he, Black’erchief 
Dick, smuggler, chief of all the Eastern coast, Captain 
of the Coldlight , and owner of six other good sailing- 
vessels in the trade, to waste his time humming tunes 
after a serving-wench, a pretty lass of some seventeen 
years, who served rum to a pack of greasy fishermen 
in a wayside tavern on the almost uninhabited end 
of a mud island, when there were women in France, 
in Spain—he shrugged his shoulders, and to take his 
thoughts off the girl he ran his mind over the events 
of the preceding night. 

“Friend,” he said suddenly, wiping his lips with 
a dainty handkerchief, “that same woman who so 
vilely returned my alms yesternight, what say’st 
thou is her name?” 

Big French sat up and yawned. 

“Oh!” he said, “that was Nan Swayle.” 

At the sound of his voice Anny, who had been at¬ 
tending to the fire on the other side of the room, came 
forward and stood at the end of the table, looking at 
the pair with wide-open, serious eyes. 

“Nan Swayle,” the Spaniard rolled the name 
round his tongue thoughtfully. “Ah, didst say she 
had been ducked as a witch?” 

Big French laughed. 


6 o 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


‘‘Ay,” he said, “at the Restoration of the King, 
and a mirthful figure she made, Captain, her thumbs 
and great toes tied crossways—so,” and he chuckled 
at the thought of it. 

Anny leant forward, her face flushed and her eyes 
bright. “A cruel jest, Master French, to so ill- 
treat a poor woman as far from being a witch as you 
an angel.” 

Black’erchief Dick regarded her excited little form 
and earnest eyes with open admiration. 

“Marry, Mistress,” he said, “what a friend thou 
art to Mother Swayle! May I ask what she has 
done for thee?” 

Anny dropped her eyes before the Spaniard’s 
smile. 

“She was ever good to me, sir,” she said. 

Big French grinned. 

“Ay, Anny,” he said, “Nan Swayle’s good will is 
about all which thy grandsire has ever given you, 
isn’t it?” 

The girl flushed and Sue and Hal stepped forward 
to listen. 

Dick looked puzzled. 

“Thy grandsire, Mistress?” he enquired. 

Anny reddened again. 

“ ’Tis an old story, sir,” she murmured. 

“Prithee, Master French,” the Spaniard turned 
lazily and looked at the young man. “Prithee 
tell it.” 

French shrugged his shoulders. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 61 

“’Tis naught/' he said carelessly, “save that in 
their youth old Ben Farran—the lass's grandsire— 
and Nan Swayle, a sweet wench they say she was 
then—'tis strange what the rum will do to a woman’s 
face—well, Captain, they were—as you might say, 
sweethearts." 

He raised his eyes to Sue at the last word, but she 
was engrossed in the Spaniard, and looking away 
again he went on: “Well, Captain—Ben was a sailor 
—on the Eliza he was—and there he got the taste 
for rum pretty bad, and Nan, she couldn't get the 
stuff for him so when Pet Salt came along—Pet o’ 
the Saltings she was then—with her begging tricks, 
the old devil left the one for the other. That's all," 
he concluded. 

“Ah!" the Spaniard smiled, “a pretty story," and 
then turning to Anny, “And so, Mistress, Nan 
Swayle hath a soft heart for thee, eh?" 

“Ay, sir, she is very good to Red and me," Anny 
said demurely. 

“Red? And who might Red be?" The Spaniard 
looked up quickly. “A lover?" 

Anny blushed again. 

“Nay, sir, my little brother," she said softly. 
“He lives with Mother Swayle." 

“So!" The thin, straight eyebrows on the olive 
brow rose in two arches. “I thought thy mother 
died when thou wast born?" 

Big French broke in quickly. 

“Ay," he said, “she did. The lad, Red, a fine 


62 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


child and one I love, was brought home from the 
South by young Ruddy, the wench’s father, the 
trip before his last—drowned he was, peace to 
him.” 

“Oh!” the eyebrows straightened themselves. 
Black’erchief Dick turned once more to Anny. 
“And so my little beauty hath only Nan Swayle to 
take care of her,” he said, smiling at her kindly as 
though she had been a child. 

“Nay!” The word escaped from Hal Grame’s 
lips before he had time to stop it. Immediately 
the Spaniard’s glittering black eyes were turned 
on the young Norseman. They took in every 
detail of his appearance, the coarse scarlet home- 
spun shirt, the white throat, and girlish pink and 
white face crowned with golden-yellow elf locks, 
and the deep blue eyes which faltered and fell before 
the Spaniard’s as they bent on the boy in an amused 
stare. 

“Indeed, sir, and who else?” Black’erchief Dick 
spoke negligently, the smile still on his lips. 

The boy blushed and would not meet the other’s 
eyes. 

“We look after our wenches at the Ship,” he said 
gruffly. 

Dick laughed. 

“Of course you do, O knight of the Spigot,” he 
said genially. “Believe me, sir, I had no meaning to 
cast a slur upon the fame of your house.” 

“Ah, ’tis well, then,” and without looking up Hal 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 63 

began to clear away the delf from the now dismantled 
table. 

Dick watched him march off with a tray of dirty 
crockery in his hands, then he shrugged his shoul¬ 
ders. 

“ Marry, what a joskin!” he said at last. 

Anny opened her mouth to speak but checked 
herself and laughed instead. 

Dick looked up at her. 

“ Mistress,” he said, “ might I beg thee to hie to 
the gate and tell me if thou see’st aught of my rapscal¬ 
lion mate, Master Blueneck?” 

4 ‘Ay, sir.” 

Anny was halfway to the door when Sue ran after 
her. 

‘Til with thee,” she said. 

Dick looked after them. 

“A marvellous pretty wench but wondrous evilly 
clothed,” he said. 

“What, Sue?” Big French spoke in great surprise. 
The Spaniard smiled. 

“Cunning dog!” he said under his breath. “Nay, 
’twas the other I meant,” he said quietly. 

“Oh!” Big French laughed. “The lass has to 
wear her mistress’s cast-off,” he said. 

“Indeed. Her mistress? Is Sue then mistress 
of the Ship?” 

“Mistress Sue,” said French, laying stress on the 
first word, “is niece to Master Gilbot.” 

“Eh? eh? What’s that?” said Gilbot, who had 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


64 

just come in, looking up at the sound of his name. 
“Plague on you all disturbing me.” And then look¬ 
ing round, “Where's Hal?” 

“You are out of humour this morning, host,” 
observed the Spaniard good-humouredly. 

“No,” Gilbot’s voice quavered more than ever. 
“Ain't had time to get happy yet, that's all.” 

“Oh!” Dick looked up, his eyes twinkling mer¬ 
rily. “Will you drink a stoup of sack with me, mine 
host?' 

Gilbot brightened visibly. 

“Be happy to,” he said quickly and then called 
loudly for Hal, who presently came in flushed and 
still a little sulky. 

Dick gave the order, and the boy obeyed sullenly, 
slopping a good gill of the wine over the side of the 
tankard as he handed it to the Spaniard. Then 
suddenly, as though realizing the absurdity of his 
childishness, he drew it back, and, mumbling some¬ 
thing about not quite the full measure, filled it up 
again, wiped the pewter with the skirt of his sacking 
apron before he once more offered it to the Span¬ 
iard, who stood looking through the open door 
without apparently having noticed the boy at all. 
Now, however, he took the tankard, drained it at a 
draught and threw down a silver coin by way of pay¬ 
ment. 

“Marry, master tapster,” he said approvingly, 
“I do not look to find a sweeter cup of sack any place 
from here to the New World—another, I prithee,” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


65 

and added, as Hal set it before him, “ An I grow this 
partiality for sweet sack, Hal, methinks I shall needs 
have to borrow the belt of that merry knight, John 
Falstaff, whom I saw in a foolish piece at the play¬ 
house when last I visited London, that city of evil 
stenches.” 

Hal did not follow the jest, but in spite of this and 
his present ill-humour, he was forced to laugh with 
the spry little Spaniard who chuckled so mirthfully, 
and whose bright sparkling eyes were dancing as they 
glanced at him over the tankard’s rim. 

At this moment Anny entered the kitchen and 
Dick, seeing her, raised his rumkin. 

“To the health of Mother Swayle’s charge,” he 
said, smiling. 

Gilbot looked up suddenly. 

“Mother Swayle?” he said in surprise, and then 
added confidentially to Dick, “Terrible old woman 
—in liquor nearly all the day—oh, disgusting.” He 
finished his draught, smacked his lips, and wiped 
them with the back of his hand. “Ah, you’re right, 
sir, wonderful sack we sells,” he remarked. 

The Spaniard suggested that he should take an¬ 
other and Gilbot cheerfully accepted. 

“Master Blueneck is coming up the road, an it 
please you, sir,” said Sue, coming in from the court¬ 
yard. 

“Ah, I thank thee, Mistress,” said the Spaniard 
courteously as he turned to help Anny lift an un¬ 
usually heavy log on to the cracking fire, but Sue 


66 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


curtseyed and blushed as though he had looked at 
her with the same fire in his glance as lurked in the 
one which he bestowed on the younger girl, and her 
lip trembled as he turned away. All this which he 
saw and a great deal more which he thought he saw 
made Master Ezekiel French bite his honey-coloured 
beard and swear many oaths and curses against the 
slim white-handed little foreigner who chatted so 
gallantly with the wenches of the Ship. 

Blueneck, entering at this moment, was surprised 
to see his master talking so earnestly with a chit of 
a child who as he rightly guessed had not more than 
seventeen years to her credit. 

“The brig is due to start in five minutes if we 
mean to catch the tide, Captain,” he said. 

“Ah, Master Blueneck,” the Spaniard turned 
affably, “and if we missed the tide what terrible 
mishap would that be?” 

The sailor shuffled uneasily. 

“You’re merry, Captain,” he said. 

“Ay, Blueneck, I am, indeed, so merry that I 
cannot abear to have a man with a face as long as 
the yard-arm about me. Here, my young host,” he 
hailed Hal from the fireplace. “Give this dog some 
of thy famous sack, make him light-hearted as I,” 
and he turned once more to the two girls and Big 
French. 

“Master French,” he said, “I trust to meet thee 
at the Victory this even, with thy three horses in the 
courtyard, and a trip to Tiptree in thy mind.” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


67 

French looked pleased and would have entered into 
business details with the Captain, but the other cut 
him short. 

“Marry, Master French,” the Spaniard’s tone was 
reproachful, “you would not pester me with tales of 
rum kegs and silk bales when I have but three minutes 
to bid farewell to two fair beauties even though it 
be but for three days?” 

“Three days?” Sue spoke in pleasure, French in 
surprise, and Blueneck in genuine alarm. 

The Spaniard looked up. 

“Yes,” he said carelessly, “methinks this eastern 
end of the Island more suited to my needs than the 
west. In three days’ time I shall return, and rest 
me at the sign of the Ship for a while.” 

Big French looked at him in amazement and Blue- 
neck swore under his breath at his master’s eccen¬ 
tricities. 

Sue smiled. 

“All will be ready for you, sir,” she said. “I 
thank you.” 

The Spaniard bowed, sweeping the floor with his 
big hat. “Farewell, Mistresses,” he said gallantly 
as they curtseyed, rather abashed at his Spanish 
courtesy. 

“And now Master French,” he continued, “if thou 
wilt accompany me to the wall we will discuss that 
little matter of a trip to Tiptree.” 

French looked at the debonair little figure half- 
irritated by the underlying note of command in his 


68 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


voice, but on the other hand half charmed by an in¬ 
describable air of perfect freedom which seemed to 
be exhaled from him. 

“Em coming, Captain,” he said, and nodded to 
the girls before he turned to follow Black’erchief 
Dick, who with another bow marched out of the 
open door, Blueneck after him. 

Sue went to the door and watched them going 
down the road; Big French, a handsome figure in his 
blue coat, strode beside the slight, gaudily clad little 
Spaniard whose head hardly reached a foot above the 
carter’s belt, while Blueneck trudged alone behind. 
“Ah,” said she, her eyes fixed on the small, almost 
insignificant figure in the distance, “what a gallant 
gentleman!” 

Anny laughed. 

“Maybe,” she said, “but I don’t hold with gentle¬ 
folk,” and she walked across the room to where Hal 
was adding up the yesterday’s reckonings. 

“Hal,” she said as she sat down beside him, “I 
did not kiss thee last night when you bade me good¬ 
night.” 

Hal kept his eyes fixed on the slate in front of him, 
but he ceased to take any account of the figures 
thereon. 

“Hal,” said Anny again coaxingly. “Thou didst 
not kiss me when I said good-night to thee.” 

The boy did not raise his eyes and the girl moved 
a little closer to him. 

“Hal,” she said plaintively. Still he did not move. 


BLACK'ERCHIEF DICK 69 

“Hal,” said Anny again. “O, very well,” she added, 

a catch in her voice, “if thou wilt not-” And she 

rose to her feet. 

“What do you want, maid?” said Hal gruffly, 
albeit somewhat hastily. 

Anny sat down again. 

“I owe you a kiss, Hal,” she said softly, twisting 
her fingers together as they lay on her lap. 

“Well?” Hal's tone was still gruff. 

“You owe me a kiss, Hal,” she said without looking 
at him. 

“Well?” the boy drew crosses and rings round 
the side of the slate. 

Anny sighed. 

“You were adding the reckonings, Hal, and I want 
to pay mine,” she said. 

“I’m sorry I doubted thee, Anny, but the Spaniard 
is so fine,” said Hal, a moment or two later, all debts 
having been squared. 

Anny laughed happily. 

“ 'Tis not you but Big French who should be 
afeared of the Spaniard,” she said, looking over 
toward Sue, who was still staring through the open 
door. As though aware that she was being spoken 
of the girl turned round. 

“Anny, lass,” she called. “Come, I would talk 
to thee.” 

Anny rose. 

“Foolish one,” she whispered to Hal as her lips 
brushed his ear. 


70 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


Hal watched her go lightly across the room and 
then returned to his reckoning much comforted, but 
he reflected as he worked that whether she had paid 
him back or not Anny Farren had certainly forgotten 
to kiss him on the night that Dick Delfazio, the 
Spaniard, first came to the Ship Inn. 

Meanwhile, Sue and Anny stood together in the 
doorway deep in talk. 

“But, Anny,” Sue was saying, as she held out the 
skirt of her gown for the other’s inspection, “think 
you ’twill serve another winter?” 

Anny looked at it for a moment; then she dis¬ 
played her own. “ ’Tis much better than mine, 
Mistress Sue,” she said. 

“Oh! but you need not look so neat as I,” Sue 
spoke quickly and without thinking. But, seeing the 
other girl’s lip tremble, she put an arm round her 
slim shoulders. 

“Nay, I did not mean to speak so,” she said kindly. 
“I was thinking but of myself; see, lass, when Master 
French next goes to Tiptree he shall bring me a new 
length of flannel from the market, and I will give 
thee this gown, for, truly, thine is very old.” 

Anny looked up and smiled; the gift of one of 
Sue’s old gowns was an event for her. 

“Thank thee kindly, mistress,” she said, as Sue 
shook out the folds of the faded purple homespun 
frock and tightened the lacing of the corsage. “ ’Tis 
not so bad,” she said. 

Anny looked at it with pleasure and she laughed 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


71 

happily. “Nay,” she said, “it will suit me well, I 
thank you, mistress.” 

Sue bent and kissed her. 

“You’re a good wench, Anny,” she said, “in spite 
of yourself.” 


CHAPTER VI 


S IT where you are, Joseph Pullen, and hold your 
peace, and be thankful you have a wife who 
knows your mind without you for ever speak¬ 
ing of it.” 

Mistress Amy Pullen, her kirtle hitched up at one 
side to give her greater freedom in the discharge of 
her household duties, strode across her small kitchen, 
an earthenware bowl of cold fatty broth in her hands 
and two small children hanging at her petticoats. 

The kitchen, which was very small, served also as 
a general living room for the Pullen family, and this 
evening, four or five days after Captain Dick had 
first left the Ship Inn, it was crowded. Joe, debarred 
from his favourite seat by his wife, who liked the 
whole of the fire to cook at, sat in a corner on a heap 
of miscellaneous lumber, a net which he was mending 
spread around him. In addition to the two little 
mites who hung on to their mother as though life 
itself depended on it, three other children were in 
the room, one baby of a year or so was nursed by 
another, a pretty fair-haired little girl of eight or 
nine, who sat on a roughly made-up bed built into 
the wall opposite the fireplace. She amused the 
child by making quaint shadows on the wall with her 


72 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


73 

hand in the flickering firelight, and save for the clatter 
of the cooking, the baby’s happy gurgles and half- 
spoken words of delight were the only sounds in the 
warm little room. The third child, a boy of ten, 
even now remarkably like his father, sat on the lowest 
rung of a wide wooden ladder which led to two little 
rooms above the kitchen, with a skep of small onions 
at his side and a knife in his hand. As he peeled the 
onions the tears ran down his cheeks and he sniffed 
at intervals. 

Joe looked up over his net at the boy. 

“Tant, hold thy peace,” he said. 

The child sniffed again. 

“I can’t hold it, ’tis these,” he said, wiping his 
eyes on his jersey sleeve, and indicating the skep with 
one dirty little foot. Joe grunted, and the child 
went on peeling, his tears falling faster and his sniffs 
becoming more and more frequent. At last Joe 
looked up again. 

“Put down the knife, lad, and leave the onions 
if you can’t peel them without setting up a snort 
like a hog every other second.” 

The boy, only too glad to be relieved of his task, 
obeyed with alacrity, and got up looking lovingly at 
the unlatched door that led out on to the road. He 
had not made a step in that direction, however, be¬ 
fore his mother, who had been listening, turned from 
the fire. “Tant, sit down and finish them onions,” 
she said sharply, and then turning to her husband 
who was assiduously attending to his net, she said, 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


74 

“Isn’t it enough, Joe Pullen, for me to wear myself 
to skin and bone feeding you, looking after your 
children, cleaning your home? Isn’t it enough, I 
say, for me to do everything for you, to work like a 
common drudge, to keep you idle, without you for¬ 
bidding my son to help me?” 

Her voice grew more and more shrill and her words 
came faster and faster until her speech became al¬ 
most unintelligible. 

Joe looked up cautiously from his work. 

“O peace with ye, Amy,” he said impatiently, the 
easily called colour mounting up to his fair hair and 
his blue eyes growing darker. 

“Ay, that’s it.” 

Mistress Pullen was a tall, well-made woman, and 
her eyes screwed themselves into slits of fury as she 
swung round, platter in hand, upsetting both children 
at her skirts, who began at once to whimper with 
fear. 

“Ay, that’s it, I must hold my peace! I, who 
slave day and night to make you happy, must hold 
my peace! Hold my peace forsooth! ” she continued, 
breaking into a sharp laugh. “Look you, Joe Pullen, 
where would you and your children be without me ? 
Tell me that. Oh! you sithering rat, you ungrateful 
mass of rum-sodden food, where would you be with¬ 
out me?” 

Joe vouchsafed no answer and the good lady, her 
wrath abating as suddenly as it had arisen, contented 
herself with a few muttered questions as to the possi- 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


75 

bility of Joe and his family remaining for an instant 
on the earth without her, turned again to the fire, 
shaking off the yelping little ones who tried to clasp 
her knees. 

Tant continued to sniff over his onion peeling un¬ 
molested. 

Called by her mother, the little fair-haired girl, 
who played so happily with the baby, left her game 
and, placing her charge carefully on the bed, set out 
six earthen bowls on the plain boarded table, which 
took up most of the space in the middle of the little 
room, and summoned the family to supper. Not 
until everyone was seated did Mistress Pullen lift 
the great iron pot off the hook on the chimney beam 
and, resting it on the edge of the table, dole out to 
each person an allowance, which varied in quantity 
according to age. In the same way she distributed 
chunks of coarse home-made bread, and then seeing 
everyone served, finally she sat down to her own 
meal. 

The Pullens ate without speaking, quickly, noisily, 
and with evident relish, dipping the bread in the 
broth and eating the sodden lumps with their fingers. 
Mistress Amy held the baby on her lap, feeding the 
little creature with sops from her own bowl. 

When all the broth had been disposed of, more 
bread and an earthen jar of honey were brought out 
and the meal continued. 

Inside the little kitchen all was warm, one might 
almost say stuffy, for, in spite of the big fire and the 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


76 

number of people inside, the door was shut fast and 
the one little window which the room possessed was 
not made to open. However, the noise that the 
rain, swiftly driven over the marshlands by a fierce 
wind, made on the glass, and the hissing drops that 
descended the wide chimney, all helped to make the 
kitchen as desirable as it could be. 

“Joan Bellamie was a-saying that the Captain of 
the Coldlight hath come back to the Ship, Joseph. 
Have ye heard aught of it ?” Mistress Pullen looked 
across the table at her husband as she spoke. 

Joe dropped his eyes before her gaze. 

“Oh, yes,” he said casually. 

“Oh, yes, indeed!” Amy’s voice rose again, 
“and ye did not think to tell me, did ye? Here I 
work the live-long day, and you so surly that you 
will not tell me the common gossip of the Island! 
I’d like to meet another woman who’d rest with ye.” 
Then she added more quietly. “Did any of his crew 
return with him, perchance?” 

Joe shifted uneasily in his chair, and reached out 
for another piece of bread before he spoke. 

“They did not,” he said shortly. 

Mistress Pullen took a deep breath. 

“And to think I have lived with a liar fit for the 
burning all these years!” she exclaimed. “For it 
was only this very day that I saw Master Coot (and 
if ever there was a snivelling sucking-pig ’tis he)— 
with my very own eyes and he told me that the brig 
was that minute moored in the Pyfleet, and every 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 77 

man of her crew aboard. A’m ashamed of ye, Joseph, 
to lie before the children the way you do/’ 

Joe shrugged his shoulders. 

“Ah, well, my girl,” he said significantly, “as far 
as we’re concerned they ain’t on the Island, see?” 
And he rose to his feet and stepped across to the 
fireplace. 

Mistress Pullen opened her mouth to reply, but 
at this moment a violent knocking at the door inter¬ 
rupted her. 

Joe looked across at his wife. 

“Whoever will it be?” he said. 

“If you had any sense at all you’d go and see in¬ 
stead of standing like a sheep thunderstruck,” said 
the lady, getting up from her seat, her baby on her 
arm. Striding over to the door, she opened it wide 
and then stepped back in astonishment, letting a 
blast of cold wind and rain into the over-heated room. 

“Well, come in, whatever you are,” she said at last 
to someone outside as she held the door wide open 
to let them pass. “If you’re not welcome ye can 
always go again.” 

A strange bedraggled little figure stepped into the 
candle-lit room. He was about nine years old, scant¬ 
ily clothed in a pair of sail-cloth breeches so large 
for him that the waist was fastened about his neck 
with a coarse string, and the knee-latchets flapped 
loosely over his little bare muddy feet, which were 
torn and scratched with thorns, and blue with cold. 
Round his shoulders he hugged what appeared to be 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


78 

the remains of a woman’s kirtle, the ragged hem hang¬ 
ing down to his knees and little rivulets of water 
dripping off the frayed ends on to the bricks. His 
face was like his feet, blue and muddy, but two spark¬ 
ling blue eyes and a shock of red hair gave a certain 
charm to an otherwise insignificant countenance. 

Mistress Pullen shut the door behind him before 
she turned to look at her visitor. As soon as she had 
done so, however, she whisked her baby over to the 
other side of the room, exclaiming as she did so: 
“Mother of Heaven! ’Tis Red Farren, the Witch’s 
brat. Out of the house with him. He can’t stay 
here bewitching the whole of us.” 

The little creature looked up at her, his face 
puckering. “Not a witch’s brat,” he said, and then 
putting his grimy little fists to his eyes began to cry 
bitterly. 

Joe Pullen’s fair-haired daughter made a step 
toward the pitiful little figure, but her father’s hand 
on her arm restrained her. 

“You stay still, Alice, unless you want to wake up 
one day and find yourself a gray girl or a coney/’ he 
said. 

Alice, rather frightened, obeyed, and Tant stood by 
her, his arm round her, while the two smaller children 
hung as usual to their mother’s skirts. The whole 
Pullen family entrenched behind the table stood 
looking at the weeping little stranger for some 
seconds before any one spoke again. At last Joe, his 
natural kindliness overcoming his superstitious fears, 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


79 

stepped round the table and took the child by the 
hand. 

“Why did ye leave Nan’s cabin this time o’ night, 
lad?” he asked him. 

The boy looked fearfully behind him, and Joe, 
noting the movement, himself turned round in 
some apprehension. However, nothing untoward 
being there, Red began to speak through his sobs. 

“Pet Salt and Nan is fightin’ horrid,” he said. 

Mistress Pullen, her curiosity getting the better 
of her discretion, came a little nearer. 

“ Pet Salt ? ” she said. “How did Pet Salt come to 
be up there?” 

“She corned to beg some meal cake,” the child 
began. “She said she wanted it for Ben.” 

“Oh!” Mistress Pullen sniffed and looked at her 
husband significantly. “And wasn’t it for Ben, 
manikin?” she said. 

The child looked up. 

“No,” he said eagerly. “No, that’s why they is 
fighting, mistress, because ’twas not for my grand- 
sire. No, Nan saw the old ronyon eating it her¬ 
self.” 

Joe threw back his head and began to laugh. 

“Oh! ho! and did you run away because the two 
crones were fighting, lad?” he said. 

The child nodded, and his tears began to flow again. 
“And they’s hurt Win!” he blurted out. 

“Win? Who’s Win?” said Joe curiously. 

“Oh, peace with you worrying the brat,” said 


80 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

Amy. “Prithee, child, did Nan Swayle lay hands 
on Pet Salt because she had eaten the meal-cake 
Nan had made for thy grandsire? ,, she questioned 
eagerly. 

The child shook his head. 

“No, mistress, ’twas not made for Grandsire, ’twas 
all we had left, but Nan said that if Ben wanted it he 
must have it and we go hungry. So she was vexed at 
the ronyon’s eating of it herself.” 

“Oh! art hungry now?” The question escaped Joe’s 
lips before he had time to stop it. 

The child looked up eagerly. 

“Ay,” he said, his eyes straying to the remains of 
the food on the table. “Ay, will ye give me some?” 

Joe immediately stretched his hand for the rem¬ 
nant of the loaf of bread and the child’s face bright¬ 
ened with expectation, but Mistress Pullen stepped 
forward. 

“ Mother of Saints! have I wedded a loon ? Would 
ye have the household entirely bewitched, Joseph 
Pullen, that you’d feed a witch-child under our very 
roof?” she said, as she snatched the bread from his 
hand and replaced it on the table. 

Joe looked sheepish and little Red began to cry 
again. Mistress Pullen reddened and sniffed fiercely. 

“If he hungers he better go to his sister at the 
Ship,” she said tartly. “Heaven knows what with 
her Captain and her other men she ought to glean 
enough to look after her brother.” 

Joe turned on his wife in honest indignation. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


81 


“Amy! how dare ye speak so of Hal Grame’s 
lass?’’ he said. “I’m not going to have my mate’s 
sweetheart spoke of so.” 

Mistress Pullen shrugged her shoulders. 

“Maybe you like the lass yourself,” she sneered, 
and then added fiercely, “anyway, you ought to be 
ashamed of yourself letting a witch’s brat stay in the 
room with your own children. Out of the house 
with him, you loony.” 

Joe looked at the forlorn little boy and then at his 
wife. 

“Maybe I better go with the child,” he suggested 
casually. 

Mistress Pullen turned on him, withering contempt 
in her glance. 

“Ay,” she said, “maybe you had. Lord, what an 
unnatural beast you are, preferring to go to a rum- 
shop in the company of a bastard brat than to rest in 
peace at your own fireside. Oh, go by all means, and 
the devil with you. You fool, do you think Nan 
Swayle has forgiven the ducking you gave her at the 
Restoring of the King?” 

And with this parting shaft, Mistress Pullen, baby 
on arm, strode across the kitchen and climbed up 
the wide ladder to the rooms above. 

Joe looked about him undecidedly. Then his 
glance fell on the boy. 

“Who’s Win?” he asked, suddenly remembering 
his question of a minute or two before. 

The little boy began to cry again and opening his 


82 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


kirtle-cloak disclosed to the fisherman’s astounded 
eyes a little black kitten nearly dead with fright and 
drenched with rain. 

“This is Win,” said Red. “Him’s hurt!” 

Joe stepped back in horror. 

“The witch’s cat,” he ejaculated. 

Red looked up. 

“No!” he said, “only a little one, look, only a very 
little one.” He held it up for Joe’s inspection. It 
certainly looked a very small, and young, harmless 
animal. It was much too frightened to move, and 
the wet fur clung closely to its emaciated body. 

Joe came a little nearer and then reached for his 
coat and cap which hung behind the door. 

“Come, lad,” he said gruffly, “we must get on to 
the Ship.” 

The child looked round the warm, bright room 
longingly, but he followed Joe out into the rain with¬ 
out a word. 

The man carefully latched the door behind him, 
and they walked on in silence for a minute or so, 
fighting their way against the storm. 

It was bitterly cold and Joe looked down at his 
little companion anxiously; the child was stumbling 
along, the kitten tightly clasped in his arms; once or 
twice he nearly fell. 

Joe looked round him cautiously, although had 
there been any one by they could not have been seen, 
then he bent down. 

“You’ll not tell Nan if I carry ye a bit, lad?” he 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 83 

asked. The child promised eagerly, and Joe swung 
him up in his arms. 

“Here,” he said, pressing a soft lump into the 
child’s hands. “Even if you’re a witch’s brat ye 
mustn’t be hungered.” 

Red bit into the bread that Joe had slipped into 
his pocket in his wife’s absence, and hugged the 
well-nigh suffocated kitten a little closer to his breast, 
while Joe, his head bent before the wind and rain, 
pushed on to the Ship. 


CHAPTER VII 


LITTLE more than an hour after Joe Pullen 



and little Red Farren left the cottage, Mis- 


tress Amy sat by the fireside, sewing. The 
five children were asleep upstairs and everything was 
quiet. Opposite her in the chimney corner, his 
heavy rain-sodden boots smoking in the heat, 
sat Blueneck, his unshaven chin resting in his hands. 
On the table lay the woollen cap and heavy coat 
which he had thrown off on entering. The water 
which dripped off the skirts of the coat made a little 
puddle on the clean red and yellow bricks of the floor. 

“You’re a kind man, Master Blueneck, to come 
trudging all this way in the soaking rain to cheer a 
poor woman whose husband is too surly to tell her of 
the doings of the Island,” said the lady, looking up 
from her mending, after a silence of a few minutes. 


“Ah, senora.” 


Mistress Pullen blushed with pleasure at the sound 
of the foreign address. 

“Where on the Island is better company than 
yourself?” said the sailor gallantly, leaning a little 
forward so that the firelight played on the brass ear¬ 
rings that shone amongst the short oily curls hanging 
down the sides of his face. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 85 

Mistress Pullen giggled and applied herself in¬ 
dustriously to her needlework. 

“I warrant me you’re not so well served at the 
Ship as you were at the Victory, Master Blueneck?” 
she said without looking up. 

Blueneck laughed bitterly. 

“You’re right, mistress,” he said, forgetting the 
“senora” to Amy’s disappointment. “The Ship is 
none so bad a tavern, as taverns are nowadays, but 
’tis of a truth much inferior to the Victory.” 

“I wonder that the Captain rests him there then?” 
said Mistress Amy, glancing under her lashes at her 
visitor. 

“Marry, so do I.” Blueneck’s tone was almost 
querulous. “Why look you, mistress,” he added, 
“is it not bad for our trade for us to tarry so long at 
one place, ay, more especially when ’tis here in the 
East where the creeks are as unknown to us as to the 
excise men themselves?” 

“Of a truth ’tis bad indeed,” Mistress Pullen 
spoke with conviction. “I wonder the Captain has 
it so,” she remarked again glancing sideways at 
him. 

Blueneck looked into the fire for a moment before 
he spoke. “Methinks the Captain is bewitched,” he 
said at last. 

“ Bewitched! ” Mistress Amy, her thoughts flying 
at once to her other visitor of the evening, spoke in 
some alarm. 

Blueneck shrugged his shoulders. 


86 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


“Anyway, I never saw him so before,” he said, 
“and I’ve sailed aboard his ship these ten years.” 

“But whoever would bewitch him?” asked Mis¬ 
tress Pullen, looking up innocently, as though no 
hint of the affairs of the Ship had reached her. 

“A marvellous pretty wench,” said Blueneck, and 
then he added hastily, “but of no comparison with 
thee, senora.” 

Mistress Amy laughed. 

“’Tis a flatterer you are,” she said, “but I never 
heard of a pretty wench of the Ship, Master Blue- 
neck; will she be one of the Island girls?” 

Blueneck looked up. 

“Ay,” he said, “’tis a lass called Anny Farran.”’ 

“Oh!” Mistress Pullen’s eyebrows rose, and she 
pursed up her lips. “That child!” 

Blueneck looked at her curiously. 

“Hast heard aught against the lass?” he asked. 

Amy looked about her carefully, then leaning a 
little forward opened her mouth as though to speak, 
but as though another thought had crossed her mind 
she drew back and, shaking her head, said piously, 
“But who am I to take away a poor slut’s character? 
’Tis not my nature, and I pray you, Master Blueneck, 
that you will not urge me, for my very conscience re¬ 
volts against it.” She paused. “Though, mind 
you, I could an I would,” she went on, “but then, as 
I said, the story will do the lass no good.” 

“You make me curious, senora,” said the sailor in 
his best manner. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


87 

But Mistress Pullen for a very good reason, namely, 
that she could not think of a convincing story on 
the spot, was not to be prevailed on, and the con¬ 
versation flagged for a time. At last she broke the 
silence. 

“Then the Captain of the Coldlight is much at¬ 
tracted by this—this, this wench ?” she asked. 

“Attracted!” Blueneck looked up excitedly. “I 
tell you, mistress, I never saw him so before—of 
course, you will understand, senora, there have been 
other women—how could there not be? But never 
has it been so that he has lost his delight in the trade. 
No,” he added, “it has not been like this these last 
ten years, and before then he was but a lad. Without 
doubt the maid has bewitched him.” 

Mistress Pullen began to be interested. 

“Have there been very many other women who 
loved the gallant Captain?” she said, her respect for 
the Spaniard growing at every word. 

Blueneck threw up his hands. 

“So many, mistress, I could not name them all.” 

Mistress Amy thrilled with interest, but her face 
fell at her next thought. 

“And now he is enamoured with an Island wench?” 
she said, feeling that the Captain had somehow 
lowered his standard of romance. 

“Ay,” said Blueneck, “but ’tis a new affair this 
time; before, it was the wenches who sighed for the 
Captain and the Captain who laughed and was 
merry, but this time it is the wench who is merry and 


88 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


the Captain”—he laughed—“oh, the Captain is 
bewitched,” he said. 

“Indeed!” Mistress Pullen looked surprised. “I 
wonder that Mistress Sue would brook the affair in 
her uncle’s house.” 

“Ho! ho! ho!” Blueneck laughed, his earrings 
glittering in the firelight. “Mistress Sue? Why, 
Mistress Amy, that lass would give her ears to get a 
fair look from Black’erchief Dick. I warrant you 
Master French is well-nigh mad at her neglect.” 

Mistress Pullen sighed at the waywardness of 
youth and went on with her sewing. 

“Ah, and that’s another thing,” said Blueneck. 
“Did you know that Master French was prevented 
from going to Tiptree last Tuesday?” 

“Prevented! Were there excise men on the 
Stroud?” Mistress Amy spoke quickly, voicing the 
fear of all the Island smugglers. 

The Stroud, a narrow, bridge-like road across the 
mud, was the one connection the Island had with the 
mainland, and once the officers of the law held it, 
there was no telling what dangers would be involved. 

Blueneck smiled. 

“Nay,” he said, “they will be as foolish as ever 
they were. Nay, there was some talk about the 
goods, and the Captain swore that he would not rest 
another night at the Victory, and that if Master 
French wanted aught from him he must come to the 
Ship and fetch it. So he had to return.” 

“Indeed, and when will he be going again, Master 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


89 

Blueneck, for I was wishing to get me a piece of rib¬ 
bon for my new kirtle-top?” said Mistress Pullen, 
her interest reviving. 

The Spaniard looked at her, smiling. “Would 
you allow me to get it for you, senora?” he said in as 
exact imitation as he could manage of the Captain’s 
manner. 

Mistress Amy looked at him in surprise. 

“Why, surely you’re not going to Tiptree, Master 
Blueneck, are you?” she said. 

“I would go to London, if you wished aught from 
thence, mistress,” said the sailor loftily. 

Amy looked at him in admiration. “If only Joe 
would speak so,” she reflected. 

The sailor, seeing the impression he had made, 
rose to his feet, narrowly escaping the chimney beam. 

“To-morrow,” he said, “I shall ride to Tiptree 
and bring the fairest dame in the Island a ribbon.” 
He reached for his cap and coat, and buttoning them 
on, made for the door. 

Amy followed him, thanking him. They ex¬ 
changed farewells. Mistress Pullen blushingly con¬ 
senting to a kiss, and parted. 

A soon as his footsteps had died away, Mistress 
Pullen slipped a cloak over her head and moved to 
the window, through which she could see a faint 
patch of light about two hundred yards away. 

“Ah!” she said to herself, “Joan Bellamie will be 
yet awake, what a deal I have to tell the ronyon.” 
And she slipped out, shutting the door behind her. 


CHAPTER VIII 


ANNY, lass, I would speak with thee; wilt 
IX harken?” 

■*- ^ Hal put the question timidly as he looked 
across at his sweetheart. 

They were alone in the Ship's kitchen; Hal re¬ 
sanded the floor while Anny sat on the window-ledge 
cleaning a pair of old brass candlesticks. It was 
four o’clock in the afternoon, and the cold, watery 
sun shot a few last rays of yellow light over the Island 
before it sank down behind the mainland. Inside the 
kitchen it was warm and beginning to get dark, for 
the fire had been allowed to die down to a few smoul¬ 
dering red and white embers, and it was yet too early 
to light the dips. Outside in the yard Anny could 
see her little brother talking to old Gilbot, who had 
wrapped himself up in a seaman’s jacket, and had 
stepped out to taste the air. 

The old man was fond of children, and Anny 
sighed with relief as she saw the strange pair—Red 
still wore his costume of the night before—take 
hands and after some animated talk walk off together 
down the road in the direction of the sea, laughing as 
they went. 

Hal made up the fire with logs which he had been 


90 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 91 

drying on the hearth, and crossed the room and stood 
beside the window-ledge just in front of the girl, be¬ 
fore he spoke again. 

“Will you harken to me?” he repeated. 

Anny looked up, smiling. “ Harken to thee, Hal ? ” 
she said. “Why, certes, thou needst not look so 
solemnly; why should I not harken to thee?” 

The boy did not speak for a moment but stood 
fidgeting before her. 

Anny put down the candlestick which she was clean¬ 
ing, and slipping off the window-ledge led him over to 
the fireplace, where she sat down on one of the long, 
high-backed seats and pulled him down beside her. 

“Do you want to tell me you don’t want to marry 
me?” she asked half jestingly, half anxiously, as she 
leaned her little round head with its long black plaits 
on his shoulder. 

Hal turned to her in great astonishment. 

“Marry, lass! How can ye be so cruel as to judge 
me so?” he said. “Of course not!” 

“Oh, the saints be praised for that,” said the girl 
quaintly. “Lord, how you fear’d me, Hal,” she 
added, kneeling up on the seat to kiss him. 

The boy put his arm round her. 

“Anny,” he said quietly, his face grave and old for 
one of his years, “you’re terrible young yet, seven¬ 
teen ain’t you?” The girl nodded, uncertain as to 
what was coming yet. “Ah, well, you ain’t had time 
to grow wise, have you?” he continued, still holding 
her on the seat beside him. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


92 

“I reckon you ain’t had much more, Hal,” she 
said, laughing. “You’re but eighteen, ain’t you?” 

Hal blushed. 

“Ay, maybe,” he said. “But I know what I’m 
telling you.” 

Anny kissed him lightly on the forehead. 

“I’m harkening,” she said. 

Hal opened his mouth to speak and then shut it 
again; then he withdrew his arm from about her 
waist and stood up. 

Anny looked at him in astonishment not unmixed 
with fear. 

“Why, what in the world is the matter with ye, 
lad?” she said. “You don’t want to go for a sailor, 
do you?” 

The boy shook his head violently, and Anny began 
to feel alarmed. 

“Whatever will you be worrying about next?” 
she said. 

Hal stepped toward her, and putting a hand on her 
forehead pushed her head back until she looked into 
his eyes. 

“You—you—you’re not loving the Spaniard, 
lass?” he blurted out, ashamed of the words as soon 
as he had spoken them. 

Anny looked at him for a moment, uncertain 
whether to be offended or to laugh. 

“Hal, I’m ashamed that you should be such a 
child,” she said, a little smile hovering round her 
mouth. “Why should I love any one but you?” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


93 

The boy appeared to be satisfied, for he laughed 
and kissed her, but then he added, “I don’t like the 
Spaniard, lass. I wish you wouldn’t hark to his 
swaggerings.” 

Anny turned round. 

“Hal, you wouldn’t have me ill-tempered to the 
customers?” she said as she picked up the half- 
cleaned candlestick and set to work on it again. 

Hal thrust his hands into his pockets and shifted 
his weight from one foot to the other. 

“Nay, lass, of course not. I would not bid you 
be uncivil, but, truth, I thought you liked the for¬ 
eigner’s big talk and notice of you. I—-—” 

“He is a pleasant gentleman,” said the girl, “but, 
Lord! I mark not half he says.” 

“You’d not let him kiss you, Anny?” 

Hal spoke sharply and Anny looked up in amaze¬ 
ment. 

“Mother of Grace,” she ejaculated, “for what do 
you take me?” 

The boy was beside her in a moment. 

“Forgive me, lass,” he said, “I did but want ye to 
promise to have no dealings with the foreigner—I— 
love you so, see?” 

“Oh!” said Anny, laughing as she straightened her 
hair after his embrace. “No one would suspect you 
of kissing a lass before, Hal. You can’t be knowing 
how strong you are.” 

“That’s as may be, but will you promise to have 
no truck with the Spaniard?” the boy persisted. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


94 

“Ay, of course I promise,” Anny sighed at his dis¬ 
trust as she spoke. Hal kissed her again, then 
walked over to the fireplace and stood for some mo¬ 
ments, resting his head on the wooden ledge below 
the chimney-piece and staring down into the smoky 
crackling fire. 

He felt that he had appeared ridiculous in Anny’s 
eyes, and his young blood revolted at the thought. 
In vain he tried to comfort himself with the thought 
that it was only his love for her which made him so 
anxious, but the idea that she must think him merely 
jealous would force itself on his mind, making him 
uncomfortable. However, he knew that the Captain 
might be a formidable rival so he said nothing else at 
the time. 

Anny sat on the window-ledge, rubbing the candle¬ 
stick with more energy than was necessary. 

She was hurt that Hal should think her such a 
light-o’-love, but all the same she thrilled with pleas¬ 
ure to think that he was jealous of anybody because 
of her. It gave her such a pleasant feeling of owner¬ 
ship and, as she reflected happily, she was very fond 
of him. 

Suddenly she paused to listen. Coming down the 
road she could hear the scrunching of heavy wagon 
wheels. She looked up at the old horologe on the 
chimney-piece. 

“That won’t be Master French yet awhile, will it?” 
she said. 

“Eh?” Hal pushed his hand over his forehead and 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 95 

turned to her. “I don’t hear any one,” he said, 
“and it wouldn’t be him yet; the roads ain’t safe 
before dark nowadays.” 

Anny sat still for a moment. 

“There is someone,” she cried, as a tumbril drawn 
by a piebald gelding turned into the yard. 

Hal stepped across to the window and looked out 
over the girl’s head. 

“Oh! , tis Cip de Musset,” he said, as the man in 
the tumbril climbed out and pushed back the oiled 
flaps of his head-covering from his face. “I war¬ 
rant he brings the rum from the brig.” He opened 
the door and went out bare-headed into the yard. 

Anny watched him through the window, saw him 
greet the man heartily, and then look into the cart at 
the other’s invitation. 

“Right!” she heard him say, “six of rum and three 
of Canary. Here, John Pattern.” 

A man came out of one of the stables. Hal said 
something to him which she could not catch. The 
man nodded and led the horse into a corner of the 
yard, where he proceeded to unload the cart. 

The man of whom Hal had spoken as Cip de Mus¬ 
set was tall, long-legged, and loosely built, with a 
black beard which curled down onto his chest. He 
stepped up to the inner door with Hal, and then stop¬ 
ped and went back to the cart as though he had for¬ 
gotten something. After groping under the sacking 
coverings for a while he pulled out a fair-sized bundle 
tied up in a piece of sail-cloth, and with this under his 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


96 

arm, came back to the door where Hal was waiting 
for him. As he crossed the yard he caught sight of 
Anny peering through the window and smiled at her, 
showing a set of enormous yellow teeth. 

Anny tossed her head and turned away from the 
window, and picking up the two candlesticks carried 
them off to the first guest-chamber where they be¬ 
longed. 

When she returned, the sail-cloth bundle was lying 
on the table, and Hal and Cip de Musset were sitting 
together by the fire, the latter drinking hot rum. 

“Good-morrow, fair one,” grinned the visitor as 
he looked up, “ there’s somewhat on the table for 
thee.” 

His clothes proclaimed him a sailor, and his man¬ 
ners were free and easy. 

“For me?” Anny looked first at the bundle and 
then over at Hal who was watching her covertly. 

“And—er—and who will it be sent from, Master 
de Musset?” she said at last. 

Cip de Musset laughed. 

“Open it, lassie,” he said, “open it and see.” 

Anny, nothing loath, pulled at the knots, and 
pushed back the sail-cloth; underneath was a white 
linen covering. 

Hal rose to his feet and in spite of himself craned his 
neck to see. 

The other man got up and stood beside the girl, 
looking down at the bundle. The arrival of a parcel 
was an unusual occurrence at the Ship. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


97 

Anny fingered the linen for a moment, and then 
with a deft movement of her little brown hand 
switched it off. She gave a gasp of surprise, and 
putting out her hands held up a piece of Lyons silk. 
It was of a pale honey colour and of a texture not un¬ 
like taffeta. She shook out the glistening sheet and 
held the piece high up to her chin. The effect made 
even Hal gasp. Cip de Musset put his tankard 
down on the table and stepped back a few paces to 
look at her. 

“That’s right, lassie, just a bit nearer thewindow,” 
he said. 

Anny obeyed, as proud as a snake of its new skin, 
and stood so that the little remaining light might 
fall upon her. 

Cip rested his huge hairy hands on his hips and 
leant back a little, his head on one side, and one eye 
shut. 

“By the Lord, but you’re as fair as a new figure¬ 
head, lass,” he said approvingly. 

Anny looked down and laughed with delight. She 
had never seen such stuff before, and the blood 
rushed to her face as she saw Hal’s expression ot 
amazed admiration as he stared at her. With a little 
sigh she folded up the silk and returned to the bundle. 
It contained a letter, a piece of green frieze, and a 
little carved box. Anny laid aside the letter and the 
box, and looked at the frieze; there seemed to be a 
great deal of it. 

Cip stepped forward to help her, and taking one 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


98 

end walked over to the door, while she, holding her 
side, went to the fireplace, yet the strip sagged in the 
middle to the floor. 

“Two new kirtles and a pair of galligaskins for 
Red,” thought the girl, as she wound up the cloth, 
and turned her attention to the box. 

Cip de Musset nudged Hal, and jerked his thumb in 
her direction. 

“Look how the lassie plays with new toys,” he 
whispered. 

Hal turned away sharply, frowning angrily. 

Cip stared at him in amazement and then, shrug¬ 
ging his shoulders, looked across at the girl. 

Anny had not noticed Hal’s expression, and Cip’s 
face broke into smiles again as he watched her. She 
was trying to open the little wooden box, her face was 
flushed, and she was breathing quickly with childish 
excitement. At last she gave it up, and, turning to 
Cip, offered it for him to open. The sailor wiped his 
hands carefully on his green-and-yellow neckerchief 
before he took the box gingerly between his thumb 
and forefinger. After turning it over once or twice 
he tried his strength on the tightly fitting lid and 
jerked it off, and held it out to the girl. 

Anny took it eagerly and gave a little cry of de¬ 
light as she examined the contents. 

“Marry! Hal, I prithee, see!” she laughed as she 
pulled out a long string of polished amber beads and 
put them over her head. “And, oh, look you! look 
you!” she exclaimed, holding out a brooch about the 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


99 

size of a large oyster, which was of painted porcelain 
with a silver border studded with brilliants. “Oh, and 
see! Look, look, Hal! why don’t you look ? ” she went 
on as she pulled first one trinket after another out of 
the little wooden box and held it up for their inspection. 
Suddenly she paused, and putting in her hand very 
carefully brought out a little carved-wood elephant, 
brought no doubt from the East by some traveller. 

“Oh, what a mannikin,” she exclaimed, fingering 
the exquisite workmanship in wonderment. “Look 
’ee, Hal, whatever will it be?” 

Hal looked down at the little figure as she stood 
before him, the carved bauble lying in the palm of her 
small brown hand, and sighed. 

“Oh!” he said, as he picked up the elephant and 
looked at it quizzically. “I reckon ’tis some heathen 
image.” 

Anny snatched it away from him and held it 
tightly. 

“Oh! nay,” she said almost pleadingly, “’tis not, 
indeed, or anyway ’tis marvellous dainty.” 

Cip stepped forward heavily and looked over her 
shoulder. 

“Oh! nay,” he said at last, “’tis not a heathen 
image; ’tis a moulding of a beast.” 

Anny looked pleased. 

“What fine little beasts they must be,” she ob¬ 
served. 

“Ah, yes,” said Cip, nodding his head sagely, 
“wonderful fine little beasts.” 


IOO 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


Anny laughed happily, and turned to the silk- and 
trinket-strewn table. 

“Oh, won’t I be fine!” she exclaimed, flinging out 
her arms as though to embrace the table’s load. 

Hal grunted. 

“Hadn’t you better look at the sealed paper?” he 
said sulkily. 

But Anny was too overjoyed to notice his tone. 

“O marry! I forgot,” she exclaimed with a little 
excited giggle, as she picked up the square envelope 
and broke open the red seal. 

“Ah!” said she, as she studied the large flourishing 
script within. 

Cip shot a covert glance at Hal and then hid his 
smile in his tankard. 

“Ah!” said Anny again, turning the paper over. 

Hal became impatient. 

“Well, lass?” he said, rising. 

Anny blushed, and then thrust the paper in his 
hand. 

“Thou knowest I cannot read, Hal?” she said. 
“Wilt decipher it for me?” 

Hal took it willingly, although with some show of 
indifference, and holding the paper at arms’ length, 
read it carefully through to himself. 

“Plague upon it all!” he exclaimed. 

Anny looked at him anxiously. 

“What does it say?” she said, looking over his 
shoulder. 

Hal flushed. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


IOI 


“I'll not tell thee,” he said angrily. 

“Oh!” Anny’s tone expressed disappointment, 
and old Cip de Musset, who had been preparing him¬ 
self to hear another man’s letter, looked up. 

“Oh! nay, lad, nay,” he said solemnly, “tell the 
lass her own letter. Ay, marry, now you must, to be 
honest.” 

Hal frowned. 

“To be honest?” he said, puzzled. 

“Ay, to be honest.” Cip was emphatic. “For if 
you don’t, lad, you alone will know the matter in the 
letter, which, look you, is not yours but the lass’s. 
Taking is taking whether it be goods or fine phrases,” 
he concluded, wagging his head sagely. 

Hal shrugged his shoulders. 

“Well, then, harken,” he said, and began to read 
sulkily and at a great pace: 

‘‘Into the lap of the fair lady who holdeth the whole heart of 
a great sailor in her sweet keeping, these fineries and divers other 
useful objects are munificently poured. 

“Prithee deck thyself, wench, for the delight of thy noble and 
honourable admirer—Dick Delfazio, Captain of the Coldlight .” 

“Did ever you hear such sithering foolishness?” 
he concluded. 

But neither Anny nor Cip was looking at him; 
at the last words of the letter they had turned to 
each other in mutual surprise and admiration. 

“Ah!” said old Cip, leaning back on his bench. 
“Wonderful way he has wi’ words and wenches. 


102 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


Damn me if they two don’t go pretty well together / 1 
he added thoughtfully. 

Anny sighed with delight and turned to Hal. 

“Oh! isn’t it a fine letter,” she exclaimed happily. 
“Will I have to write one back?” 

Hal looked up, and the expression on his boyish face 
made her pause in her happiness, and turn to him 
anxiously. 

“Anny Farran, what are you making of yourself?” 
he began slowly, his young imagination magnifying 
the occasion until he felt himself the injured lover 
leading his frail betrothed away from the pretty 
walks of folly. 

Anny looked at him in wonderment and he went 
on: 

“Anny, are you tending to accept these—these 
fripperies, like a common serving-wench, and worse?” 

Anny blushed and started; then she looked from 
her lover to the table and back again. 

“Not take them?” she said, her mouth drooping a 
little at the corners and her eyes growing larger and 
very bright. 

“Of course not!” 

Wrapped in the blanket of his youthful virtue the 
boy felt no sympathy for the despairing glance which 
the pathetic little girl in front of him cast at her 
shabby, much-stained kirtle and well-mended bodice. 

Anny swallowed something in her throat and 
blinked her eyes once or twice, her long dark lashes 
becoming spiky and blacker than before. Then she 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


103 

laughed a little unnaturally and rubbed her hand 
awkwardly down the sides of her skirt. 

“Oh, of course not,” she said, laughing still on a 
strange high pitch, as she gathered up the finery and 
put it carefully back into the sail-cloth covering. 
“Of course not,” she repeated mechanically, never 
allowing her fingers to stray over the smooth soft sur¬ 
face of the silk or to play amongst the amber beads or 
ivory ornaments. “There,” she said at last as the 
last trinket was slipped into the little box, and she 
looked round, the bright colour still in her cheeks and 
the forced smile on her lips. “Oh! and the little 
beast?” she said half questioningly, half agreeing, as 
she picked up the little carved elephant and looked 
at it wistfully. 

“And the little beast,” said Hal firmly. 

Anny sighed and slipped it in with the others, 
then tied up the sail-cloth with a firm hand. 

“Master de Musset,” she said a little unsteadily, 
“would you be kind enough to—to take this back to 
the Captain and say I can’t accept it? Say—say of 
course not,” she added. 

Cip de Musset rose to his feet, bewilderment on 
his face as he looked from one to the other of the 
two young people. 

“Say you sent it back?” he said at last, turning to 
the girl. “Nay, say he sent it back ” he added, jerk¬ 
ing his thumb in Hal’s direction. 

Anny stepped forward quickly and laid her hand 
on his arm, anxiety written in her very posture. 


104 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


“Oh, nay! I pray you, Master de Musset, say I 
sent it back,” she said eagerly. “I beg of you to tell 
my message rightly.” 

Cip looked into her earnest little face and 
smiled. 

“All right, lassie,” he said. “But,” he added, his 
voice and face becoming suddenly grave, “you have a 
care how you anger Black’erchief Dick. You young 
ones—you’re sweethearts, too, ain’t you?” 

“Yes, but you won’t say,” Anny spoke quickly and 
Cip shook his head. 

“Oh, no!” he said, grinning. “I won’t say. I be 
going.” 

He moved over to the window and looked out. 

“Here be Ezekiel French just drove up,” here- 
marked. 

Anny looked up at the clock. 

“Mother o’ Grace!” she ejaculated, “I have for¬ 
got to call Mistress Sue,” and she ran out of the door 
and up the stairs to the little room which she and 
Sue shared. 

Hal picked up the sail-cloth bundle and handed it 
to Cip, who took it without a word and went out 
into the yard. He stood talking to French some 
minutes and then walked over to his cart. 

“Poor little lassie,” he muttered as he climbed 
into the tumbril and turned the piebald gelding out of 
the gate. “Poor little lassie,” he repeated. “Lord, 
ain’t we particular when we’re young.” He looked 
at the bundle on the floor behind him and shrugged 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


105 

his shoulders. “This here Black’erchief Dick and 
all,” he concluded, sighing and whipping up his 
horse. 

Big French stood in the Ship yard talking to Hal 
and old John Pattern, the ostler. He leaned lazily 
against the shaft of his wagon, an arm stretched out 
over the back of one of the horses. The wagon was 
half full of mysterious sacking-covered bales and 
little round casks, the first containing silk and the 
other tobacco. 

“Have ye got them ten trusses’ straw I bespoke, 
Hal?” French was saying, the barley stalk he was 
chewing moving up and down in his mouth. 

“Ay, in the barn; that on the right is yourn,” Hal 
replied readily. 

Big French looked at John Pattern enquiringly. 
The old man grinned. “That’ll be all right, sir,” he 
said, pocketing the coin which the big man had given 
him. 

“You’ll cover the stuff well up?” French en¬ 
quired. “Undo the first five truss and spread it 
over the stuff and then put the rest, bound up, atop, 
you know how.” 

The man nodded. 

“Ain’t been on the Island for sixty-seven years for 
nothing,” he said, winking one bright blue eye. 

French laughed. 

“Maybe,” he said, “but you never can tell when 
the roads will get dangerous again. What with foot- 


io6 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


pads whom I fear not and excise folk whom I do— 
you never know,” and he shrugged his shoulders, and 
soon added, a smile breaking over his handsome face, 
“but, Lord, it’s all in the trade, so what's the use of 
talking?” 

He turned away with Hal, and John touching his 
cap went off to the barn—a long low building on the 
left of the Ship. 

“I’m taking that dog Blueneck and his mate Coot 
along wi’ me,” French remarked, as he and Hal 
neared the kitchen door. “You ain’t seen them up 
here yet, I suppose?” 

Hal shook his head as he lifted the latch. 

“No,” he said, “but they’ll come, don’t you fear, 
the sniffling Spanish rats.” 

French laughed and was about to reply, but as 
his eyes fell upon Mistress Sue who had stepped to 
the door to meet them, the words died on his lips, and 
he grinned sheepishly. 

In the kitchen the dips had been lighted, the fire 
had got up, and all round the hearth was bright and 
cheerful. 

Sue followed and stood in front of him. 

Anny sat in her usual place at the window. She 
was sewing the buttons on an old coat of Gilbot’s, and 
several times she pricked her fingers, and then hastily 
dashed the back of her hand across her eyes, but 
otherwise she was very still and no one else in the 
room noticed her. 

Hal went to draw a noggin of rum for French, and 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


107 

while he was away, the door opened, and Blueneck 
and Habakkuk Coot came in. 

French, who had just formed a complete sentence 
to open conversation with Sue, scowled at the in¬ 
truders, turned his back on the astonished girl, and 
stared into the fire. Perhaps it was the wisest thing 
he could have done, for Sue, as she bustled off to 
attend to the two sailors, began to think about 
him, a thing she had not done seriously since that 
evening when Black’erchief Dick first came to the 
Ship. 

It was strange, she thought. Usually Big French 
seemed so pleased to see her, so ready to laugh with 
her, so childishly shy when she spoke directly to him, 
and she found herself thinking with pleasure of that 
evening when Gilbot had interrupted him in a most 
important question. She laughed to herself. Ah! 
that was before the advent of the Spaniard. Ah! 
the Spaniard! she sighed, and then flushed hotly at 
her own thoughts. What was the Spaniard to her? 
A man who was not even interested in her. She 
tossed her head, but all the same she sighed again 
before she put the tankards down before the two 
shipmates of the Coldlight , and returned once more 
to the young giant at the fireside. 

“Master French/’ she said, planting herself before 
him, “would you get me a thing or two at the mar¬ 
ket?” 

French beamed at her. 

“Anything,” he said jerkily, as though the word 


io8 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


had been released from captivity, “or everything,” 
he added suddenly and earnestly. 

Sue did not understand him and she looked down 
in surprise. 

“Everything?” she repeated. 

French blushed, opened his mouth, shut it again, 
then he cleared his throat noisily. “Everything you 
wish, mistress,” he said finally, inwardly cursing his 
shyness. 

Sue perched herself on the table in front of him 
and enumerated the odds and ends that the Ship re¬ 
quired. 

Anny looked at the pair shyly from out her corner. 

“Ah! but how much of the flannel, mistress?” 
French was saying. 

“Six ells an it pleases you,” Sue replied. 

Anny gulped and applied herself industriously to 
her sewing. 

Just then the door opened and John Pattern put 
in his smiling head. 

“Master French,” he called. 

French, who had just begun to enjoy himself, 
looked up with another scowl. 

“All’s ready,” said John, “and, if you’s going to 
get to Tiptree afore eleven, ye better start.” 

“Right!” French rose to his feet with a sigh and 
walked to the door. “Come on,” he said to the two 
sailors who were looking round anxiously. 

Habakkuk sniffed noisily and happily, his pale, 
bilious little face positively shining with excitement 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


109 

as he got up hastily and trotted to the door, Blueneck 
following. 

The rest of the company followed out into the yard 
to see the adventurers safely off the premises. 

It was a sharply cold, clear frosty night, with a 
mist hanging low over the marshes. There was no 
wind and the place was very silent. The sky was 
clear and thickly sprinkled with stars and the moon, 
nearly full, shed a white ghostly glow over the 
countryside. 

Old John Pattern, a large box lantern in his hand, 
hovered hither and thither like some old and bluff 
will-o’-the-wisp. 

French walked round the wagon to make sure that 
everything was in order. Then he climbed up on to 
the shaft and perched himself on the driving-seat, 
which consisted of a board nailed flat on the front 
of the wagon. 

“Come on, if you are coming at all,” he called to 
Blueneck, who scrambled into the one remaining seat 
beside him. 

“Hi, where shall I go?” said Habakkuk, sniffing 
and hopping about in his anxiety. 

French shrugged his shoulders. 

“Best get up on to the straw atop,” he said. 

Habakkuk climbed on to the hub of the wheel and 
with Hal’s help got safely on to the straw where he 
lay quite still. 

“Ready?” said French, and then turned the horses 
about without waiting for an answer, and drove out of 


no BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

the gate amidst the jests and farewells of the on¬ 
lookers. 

“You won’t forget the flannel?” Sue called after 
him. 

French’s deep, pleasant voice rang back through 
the thin, cold air: “Rather would I forget the wagon, 
mistress.” 

Sue laughed. 

“There’s a new gown on the way,” she said with a 
sigh of satisfaction as she went back to the kitchen. 

Anny gulped and Hal, turning at that moment, 
saw her disappointed little face in the moonlight. 
She looked at him so sorrowfully without speaking, 
and then went into the Inn. 

He was about to follow her but checked himself; 
he began to realize a little how much she cared for 
pretty things and what she had given up with the 
sail-cloth bundle. Pushing his hands into his pockets 
he walked out of the gate and down the road to the 
sea, his chin on his breast. He had not gone very 
far before he met old Gilbot stumping along alone. 

The old man hailed him cheerily and bade him go 
down to fetch little Red who, he averred, was scoon- 
ing stones on the clear sea. “No one obeys me,” he 
concluded with a chuckle. “I can’t make the young 
one come. Go fetch him, Hal.” 

He waddled off, smiling and talking to himself. 

Hal walked on in deep thought, kicking the stones 
in the road with his clogs. 

Anny was fond of pretty fripperies and ornaments; 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


in 


she liked to be admired and looked at, and would 
have kept the sail-cloth bundle for its own worth, 
without a thought for the giver. 

Hal kicked at a stone savagely, and swore loudly. 
He was eighteen and as bitter against the world as it 
is possible to be at that age. He remembered Anny’s 
little white face in the moonlight as Big French drove 
off*, Sue’s request in his ears, and her disappointed, 
sorrowful glance at him before she returned to the 
kitchen. He had reached the sea by this time and he 
stood for a moment peering out over the mist-ridden 
water. “If only I had money,” he thought. 
“Lord!” 

Staring out into the white moonlit vapour he saw 
Anny in her honey-coloured silk, her eyes bright and 
her lips a little parted, just as he had seen her that 
afternoon. Then he saw himself beside her, no longer 
a deputy landlord and everybody’s errand boy, but a 
man of importance in a new blue cloth coat with 
silver buttons and a ruffle in the sleeves. He was 
holding her hand and they were married. 

“Oh! if only I had money!” the words escaped 
from his mouth like a groan, and he shivered involun¬ 
tarily, almost afraid of his own voice; everything 
around him was so shadowy and unreal. 

“ Hal Grame, is that you ? Oh! how you frightened 
me.” The voice seemed to start from the pebbles at 
his feet and he sprang back in alarm, crossing him¬ 
self. 

“Who’s there?” he said sharply. 


112 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


“Only me and Win.” Red Farran got up from 
the bank of seaweed where he had been sitting and 
put a little wet hand into Hal’s. 

“Why do you want money?” he said. “Win an’ 
me want money, too.” 

Hal looked down at the fantastical little figure be¬ 
fore he answered: 

“Why do I want money-?” he began, his voice 

rising with silly, sweet, half-theatrical boyish passion; 
then he checked himself and shrugged his shoulders. 
“Oh, nothing,” he said. 

Red looked at the sea. 

“It’s too dark to scoon stones,” he remarked. 
“How many times can you make one hop? I made 
one go nine times once in smooth water,” he added 
modestly. 

Hal vouchsafed no answer, and Red sat down again 
on a bank of seaweed. 

“Here’s Win,” he said softly as he fumbled in 
his ragged clothes and brought out the kitten, now 
quite dry but very sleepy, and hugged it up to his 
neck. 

“If we had money wouldn’t we eat a lot and be 
happy?” He squeezed the kitten a little harder and 
the unhappy animal squealed sleepily. Red laughed. 
“Yes,” he said, “I think so, too.” 

There was silence for a few minutes save for the 
gentle lapping of the water and the scrape of moving 
pebbles as the waves rolled them up and down on the 
shore. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


ii 3 

“Money’s very useful, isn’t it?” said Red at last. 

“Ay,” Hal replied fervently. 

“Master Gilbot said that, too,” went on the child 
as he pitched a stone and waited to hear the gentle 
“plop” which it made as it reached the water. 

Hal looked up. 

“What did he say?” he asked. 

Red screwed up his face in thought. 

“I forget,” he said, “it was something about leav¬ 
ing the Ship to a man who had money.” He tossed 
another stone, then turned his attention to the 
kitten. 

“A man with money,” said Hal. “What man?” 

“Oh! any man, I suppose,” said Red vaguely, 
stroking the cat’s fur up the wrong way. 

“Any man with money,” repeated Hal to himself; 
then he began to laugh loudly, unnaturally, and very 
high. 

Red clapped his hands over his ears and the kitten 
snuggled into his chest. 

“Don’t do that, Hal,” he said imploringly, “it’s 
just like Nan when she sees Pet Salt.” 

Hal stopped and pulled himself together. 

“Best be getting back,” he said, and started off 
along the lane. 

The child got up without a word and trotted after 
him, the kitten wrapped safely in the folds of his 
kirtle-cloak. 

Hal did not think about the boy; he strode along, 
his eyes on the ground. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


114 

“I will get money,” he whispered to himself. 
“Eve never had any. IVe never had aught to give 
her, and women be capricious and whimsical. They 
care for that foolery. Before God I swear some day 
I’ll own the Ship, and, oh, you holy Saints, let me 
keep her till then.” 


CHAPTER IX 


3UT nine o’clock on the following morning, 



when the hoar-frost was still on the ragged 


grass and leafless trees, Anny hurried down 
the road which led to the Ship. She had been to see 
Nan Swayle, and was returning from her cabin with 
a large skep of onions which the old woman had 
insisted on sending to Gilbot in return for the 
half keg of rum which he had given her. 

It was bitterly cold, and Anny hugged the thread¬ 
bare shawl very tightly about her shoulders as she 
hastened on, her head bent before the driving wind. 

“Well met, mistress,” said a musical voice behind 
her. “Prithee, may I carry thy basket?” 

Anny’s heart sank as she turned her head. 

Black’erchief Dick came forward, a smile on his 
face, and stretched out a pair of dainty white hands 
for the skep. 

Anny blushed and withheld it from him. 

“Nay, I would not dream of letting you trouble, 
sir,” she said. “I—I would rather carry it myself.” 

Dick laughed. 

“And I would rather carry it myself,” he said. 
“Faith, mistress, I warrant me we’ll have to bear it 
together.” 


n6 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


So saying he gaily caught hold of the handle near¬ 
est him and they walked on, he chatting merrily and 
she alternately laughing at his sallies, blushing, and 
smirking at his well-seasoned stories. They made 
strange contrast as they went, the skep swinging be¬ 
tween them, the girl, her shabby green kirtle and torn 
black bodice, her heavy clogs sinking in the deep 
slushy mud of the road, and the Spaniard newly 
clothed in shining brocaded satin, with point-lace 
collar and ruffled cuffs, his fashionable short surcoat 
displaying a tucked embroidered shirt marvellously 
laundered; his cloak of the finest Amsterdam cloth a 
little open in the front showing the hilt of his famous 
knife as it hung in his gem-studded belt. 

“Mistress, prithee why didst thou return my gifts 
yestere’en?” said Dick at last as they neared the 

Ship. 

Anny, who had been waiting for this, took a deep 
breath. 

“For what do you take me, sir?she said, turning 
her big innocent eyes upon him. 

Dick looked at her curiously. Was it possible 
that this little country drudge was different from all 
the other women he had met? He nearly dropped 
his side of the skep in his surprise. 

“I crave thy pardon, mistress,” he said dazedly, 
and they walked on in silence till they reached the 
Ship. 

Then Dick spoke again: 

I will come in for a stoup of mine host’s sweet 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


117 

sack,” he said, and then added softly, for the door 
was open, “and I would speak seriously with thee.” 

Anny went into the kitchen rather self-consciously 
and looked round. No one was there and she went 
out to the scullery with the onions. 

When she returned the Spaniard was sitting by the 
fireside, his daintily shod feet resting on the hearth¬ 
stone. He did not look up as she came in, so she 
tripped across to the shelves to get him a tankard, 
and then unearthed a flagon of sack from under the 
cask form. 

“Prithee set it here to warm, child,” said Dick, 
pointing to the hob. 

Anny did as she was told. He touched her hand 
lightly as she passed him. 

“And now, mistress, will it please you to sit be¬ 
fore me?” he said. 

Anny sat down, and the Spaniard looked at her in 
admiration for a moment before he spoke. 

“Hast heard much said of Dick Delfazio?” he con¬ 
tinued, smiling at her, and leaning forward a little, 
his elbow on his knee and one hand supporting his 
chin and shielding his face from the fire. 

Anny dropped her eyes, not quite certain what to say. 

But as he waited for an answer, she stammered, 
“Ay, a great deal an it please you.” 

“Aught to my discredit?” The Spaniard spoke 
sharply and frowned. 

“Oh, nay, sir, nay.” Anny spoke hastily as she 
noted his displeasure. “Rather the other way.” 


118 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


A smile spread over the man’s face for a moment, 
and he looked at her. 

“Yet, mistress, you refused my gifts,” he said 
softly. 

An expression of pain passed over the girl’s face 
but she said steadily: “Ay, sir. And I would not 
have any one think I would take them. Methinks 
you mistake me, sir,” she added proudly. 

The Spaniard did not speak; he sat looking at her 
steadfastly without moving his position, his glitter¬ 
ing deep black eyes fixed on her face, and an inscrut¬ 
able expression on his lips. 

Anny did not look up, and at last the Spaniard 
leaned back in his seat, new interest in his face and a 
twinkle of pleasure in his eyes. 

“ Mistress, you mistake me,” he said gently. “ Be¬ 
lieve me I never thought you aught but a maiden as 
fair in reputation as in face. What villain can have 
read anything else but pure admiration in my small 
offerings t q you?” 

Anny looked up quickly, her face glowing with 
confusion. She thought angrily of Hal's outburst 
and opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment 
her eye caught the Spaniard’s white hand playing 
with the hilt of his knife, and she looked at him again, 
as he sat smiling at her, his full red lips curled back a 
little, showing the white teeth within. 

“I thought it myself,” she said almost defiantly, 
as she rose to go about her work. 

Dick put out a hand to restrain her. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


119 

“Prithee sit down, fair one, I would speak with 
thee,” he said firmly, his eyes commanding her with 
their momentary fierceness, and continued as she 
reseated herself: “Hast ever been off this Island, 
mistress ? ” 

“Nay, sir,” Anny shook her head. “Not even to 
the West,” she added. 

Dick threw up his hands in mock surprise, and the 
girl could not help thinking how beautiful they 
looked, rising so waxen-like from out the delicate lace 
ruffles which surrounded his wrists. 

“The pity of it, mistress, O, the pity of it, that 
you should be wasted here on this desolate mud flat,” 
Dick was saying, “which is only visited by a gentle¬ 
man once in two or three months, and then only for a 
sennight. No, the jewel of your beauty is little 
suited to so drab a setting as the mud-beslimed shores 
of Mersea Marsh Island.” 

Anny looked at him, uncertain whether he was 
laughing at her or not, but she could get no hint of his 
mood from his face, which was nearly expressionless 
save for the eyes which regarded her almost mourn¬ 
fully. 

“What would I find fairer than the marshes in 
another country?” she said at last. 

The Spaniard laughed. 

“The marshes?” he said. “Oh! Mistress, what 
have you known of beauty that you look on gray and 
purple marshes and call them fair?” 

Anny frowned. 


120 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


“Marry!” she said, tossing her head. “They’re 
good enough for me.” 

“Nay, fair one, there you mistake, it’s because 
they are not good enough for thee that I would quar¬ 
rel with thee loving them.” 

The Spaniard leaned a little forward as he spoke. 

Anny laughed uneasily and rose to her feet. 

“Ah, well!” she said, “’tis of no account what I 
think fair or ugly, see how late it is; I must be about 
my business.” 

Dick got up also. 

“Look ye, mistress,” he said, “I had almost for¬ 
got what I came to see thee for. I sail again for 
France on Wednesday even.” He paused and looked 
at the girl for any hint of surprise or disappointment 
which she might show, but Anny did not look up and 
betrayed no other interest beyond polite attention. 

The Spaniard smiled and his eyes began to sparkle 
again. 

“And, little one,” he went on, “when I sail it will 
not be on the Coldlight , but the Anny if you will per¬ 
mit me to rename the ship after thee.” 

Anny gasped. She knew a little about the impor¬ 
tance which sailors in general, and smugglers in par¬ 
ticular, attached to the names of their vessels, and 
was fully sensible of the honour which the Spaniard 
was conferring upon her. She began to feel flattered. 

“You honour me too much, sir,” she said, bobbing 
and smiling. 

The Spaniard made a stately bow. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


121 


“Mistress, I thank you for deigning to accept so 
small a tribute,” he said in his grand manner. “And 
may I beg of you two more favours, namely, that you 
will honour my ship with your presence, and will 
yourself bless the brig and proclaim thyself its guar¬ 
dian and patron?” 

Anny blushed and laughed happily. 

“Ay,” she said, “and gladly if you can trust my 
blessings.” 

The Spaniard bowed again. 

“What blessings might I trust in if not in yours?” 
he said gallantly. “I will come myself to bring thee 
there. Au revoir, fair one.” He picked up his big- 
brimmed hat and, taking the little brown hand in 
his soft white one, respectfully raised it to his lips. 

Anny smiled shyly as she drew it slowly away and 
put it behind her back. 

Dick looked into her little face, so very little lower 
than his own. 

“Might I dare to salute your lips, Anny of the 
Island?” he said softly. 

Anny’s smile vanished and she drew back stiffly. 

“Methinks you mistake me for some other wench, 
sir,” she said. 

“Pardon, I prithee, fairest of prudes.” Dick’s 
tone was really penitent. “For but one moment I 
dreamed—shall I tell thee my dream?” 

Anny looked at him in astonishment and in spite 
of her vexation drew a little nearer. 

“Whatever-” she began. 


122 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


Dick interrupted her. 

“All in one moment I dreamt I was dead and in 
hell, and, as I trod on the burning stones, a sudden 
ease fell upon me and I looked up and beheld the 
fairest face in all the world before me, the lips put 
up to meet mine—and I—well, mistress, then you 
woke me.” 

Anny looked at him in amazement, wondering if 
the Spanish gentleman had suddenly become be¬ 
witched. Then she conjured up in her childish mind 
a picture which his words suggested to her of the 
fastidious little man hopping and dancing over hot 
paving bricks, and she began to laugh so heartily 
that she had to support herself by leaning against 
the door-post. Although this was hardly the way in 
which he wished his excuse to be taken, the Spaniard 
was pleased to have the girl so completely mollified 
and began to laugh himself with her. 

“Oh, go along with ye,” said Anny at last, as she 
wiped away the tears of laughter with the back of her 
hand and held open the door for him. 

Dick bowed again and Anny smiled as she watched 
him out of the yard. 

“Oh! ,, she said to herself, “he’s a mighty pleasing 
gentleman, very fine to look upon, very bravely 
spoken, and I’ll bless his ship for him gladly, but you 
can’t love two lads at once.” 

Dick went off down the road toward the sea, deep 
in thought. He had not gone very far before he was 
overtaken by Blueneck, who was just back from Tip- 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


123 

tree. They fell into that easy kind of conversation 
which often takes place between master and his con¬ 
fidential inferior. 

“ We’re renaming the brig to Anny on the evening 
of Wednesday,” remarked Dick, as they went along. 

Blueneck looked at his captain and opened his 
mouth to protest, but thought better of it and held 
his peace. 

“What think you, Blueneck, the wench will have 
naught to do with me!” went on Delfazio. 

The other man looked at him disbelievingly and 
laughed. 

“Marry, ’tis so,” Dick said, laughing. “Faith, she 
sends back my presents and scorns my kisses.” 

Blueneck looked down at his master in surprise, 
then he shrugged his shoulders. 

“You will not trouble with the lass further, sir, 
surely?” he said. 

Dick smiled again. 

“Hast ever known me denied aught I desired?” 
he said, his voice pleasant and smooth. 

Blueneck shook his head. 

“Nay,” he said, “but, Lord, what’s a silly wench, 
sir? She can have no interest for thee.” 

“Ah, thou hast hit it, dog, ’tis that exactly which 
the lass has for me—interest—interest greater than 
I ever felt for any other woman.” 

Blueneck laughed and turned the laugh into a 
cough. 

Dick looked at him, smiling shyly. 


124 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

“Ah! you may laugh, friend of the unshaven 
neck,” he said, “but as I told you this is so. Never 
have I been denied so much by any woman, and at 
last I find a game that makes the prize worth having. 
The end of a certainty will be the same but the woo¬ 
ing is half the pleasure, eh, dog?” 

Blueneck grinned as he fingered the ribbon, which 
he had brought from Tiptree, and they went on to¬ 
gether down to the brig where Dick gave orders for 
the ceremony for renaming the Coldlight. 

Meanwhile, up at the Ship everything was bustle. 
French had returned and was entertaining the com¬ 
pany with the story of the night’s adventures, and 
Anny and Sue were kept busy serving rums and pre¬ 
paring the midday meal. 

It was then that Big French remembered the flan¬ 
nel he had bought and handed it to Sue with another 
little bundle which he had bought from a gypsy. 

Sue hastened away to open it, and it being dinner¬ 
time the company slowly dwindled off* until there was 
only the usual household and the young giant left to 
partake of the meal together. This was speedily 
served by Anny and Hal, who were now on the best of 
terms. 

Sue came downstairs a few seconds later, blushing 
and smiling, with a string of blue beads round her 
neck, and French shuffled, reddened, and choked 
over his broth when he saw her so that everyone 
looked at him and then at her and smiled at one an¬ 
other knowingly. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


125 

Old Gilbot began to sing “Mary Loo,” but soon 
gave it up and took to his rumkin. 

After dinner, the delf being cleared away, Anny 
went up to her room, which was also Sue’s, and sat 
down on her bed. She thought of Black’erchief Dick 
and his brig and began to picture to herself the scene 
on board the Coldlight when she would change its 
name to her own. Then she sighed. She looked 
down at her shabby kirtle and passed her hand over 
its holes and stains. Downstairs she could hear Big 
French’s deep voice raised as though pleadingly and 
could catch Sue’s high, sweet, giggling replies. She 
turned over on the bed and lay face downward for 
a few seconds, then she sat up and began hastily to 
re-arrange her hair. On Sue’s bed she saw the flannel 
spread out, and she went over softly to have a look 
at it. It seemed very coarse and ugly when she 
mentally compared it to the honey-coloured silk or 
the wide green frieze which she had sent back to Dick 
in the sail-cloth bundle. And she found herself wish¬ 
ing that Hal had money like French and Dick, but she 
checked herself and blushed at her own greediness, 
as she termed it. She sat down on her bed again, 
sighing as she did so, and Sue, coming up some while 
later, finding her still there, took pity on her shabbi¬ 
ness and gave her the purple gown that Anny had 
wished for so long, and was then amazed to see the 
usually so grateful, peaceable little girl cast the old 
garment from her and, throwing herself on the bare 
boards, sob till the elder girl feared for her health. 


CHAPTER X 


TER his conversation with Black’erchief 



Dick, Blueneck found leisure to attend to 


JL JL his own amours. He first retired to the brig 
where, with the help of Habakkuk Coot, he arrayed 
himself in his best clothes, tied the knee-latchets of 
his breeches with bright-coloured tapes, and borrowed 
a brilliant red-and-green kerchief from out poor Mat 
Turnby’s bundle, and then, after carefully tying the 
length of cherry ribbon, which had cost him much 
time and trouble to procure, in a piece of muslin, he 
stowed the packet in one of his big side pockets and 
started out for Joe Pullen’s house. 

He had some little way to go, as the Pullens’ cot¬ 
tage was situated slightly to the north of the church, 
and that was about a mile and a half from the point 
where the brig was moored. He walked along cheer¬ 
fully, whistling a chanty, and mentally rehearsing the 
speech which he intended to make to Mistress Amy 
when presenting the ribbon. 

In spite of the time of year, the late afternoon sun 
shone brightly on the wet grass and there was a 
touch of spring in the air. 

On nearing the cottage he stopped to see if he still 
had the little muslin packet, and, feeling it still 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


127 

there, strolled nonchalantly up to the door and 
knocked loudly. 

Mistress Pullen opened it herself, and seeing him, 
put her finger to her lips. 

Blueneck stood still looking at her, very dis¬ 
appointed and a little foolish. Inside the cottage he 
could hear deep rafter-shaking snores and soon under¬ 
stood that the lady’s husband was within. He 
opened his mouth to speak but Amy shook her head 
violently and he shut it again with a snap; however, 
he did not move, and Mistress Pullen had to push 
him off the door-step and whisper, “This evening,” 
before he fully realized that he was not wanted. 
Fumbling in his pocket, he hastily found the ribbon, 
and snatching it out crammed it into her hand, then 
tiptoed off down the path feeling that he had been 
cheated. 

Amy took the parcel without looking up and 
quickly slipped back, shutting the door carefully be¬ 
hind her. 

Blueneck returned along the way he had come, in 
a much less cheerful frame of mind than when he 
started out. He no longer whistled but lurched 
along, his head bent and his hands thrust deep in his 
pockets. 

On passing the Ship sounds of cheerfulness came 
out to him through the open door and, yielding to the 
impulse of the moment, he went in. 

As usual the scene in the Ship kitchen was cheer¬ 
ing even to look at. The roaring fire in the open 


128 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


grate, the glinting lights on the pewter, and the 
shadowy, dusky corners in which faint outlines of 
casks and strings of drying onions could just be dis¬ 
tinguished, all gave it a cosy, comforting appearance. 
At least Blueneck thought so as he joined the circle 
round the fire and called for hot rum to be served to 
him. 

Old Gilbot was in a lively mood; he sat in his 
corner, his blue eyes twinkling from out huge creases 
of fat, singing, laughing, and drinking with the best 
will in the world, and keeping the company in a con¬ 
tinual roar of laughter. 

Big French sat on the other side of the fireplace, 
playing with little Red Farran and his kitten. The 
little boy was a favourite of the big man and they 
chatted together with an equal share of enjoyment. 

Sue leaned over the back of the seat, and from time 
to time joined in their conversation. At these times 
French smiled contentedly and almost as easily as he 
did on the days before the little dark-eyed white- 
handed Spaniard landed east instead of west of 
Mersea Marsh Island. 

Anny and Hal were talking together in the back¬ 
ground as they polished up the tankards. She was 
telling him about the Spaniard’s desire to rename 
the brig, and clearing away with her gentle cajolery 
all his little jealous fears and doubts. 

Several other men were sitting round the fire. 
They were Habakkuk Coot, sniffing as usual and 
drinking spiced ale; Old Master Granger, guffawing 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


129 

at Gilbot, and sipping his neat rum with obvious 
relish; Cip de Musset,chewing a chunk of coarse black 
tobacco, a habit much disapproved of by the Island¬ 
ers who thought the weed a dangerous, new-fangled 
drug, and of no use save to sell to other people; and 
one or two others. All very merry and cheerful and 
good company to each other. 

Blueneck drank his rum and, beginning to feel more 
cheerful, he leaned forward a little to join in the talk. 

“Ah! a wonderful funny thing that be,” Granger 
was saying, as he shook his head sagely. “You’re 
right, a wonderful funny thing.” 

“Ah! and what’s more, it ain’t the first time it’s 
happened,” put in another man casually. 

“What?” 

In an instant the company’s attention was fixed 
on the new speaker and he looked round as though he 
were going to say something very secret. 

“Six months ago on Ray Island,” he said. 

“Oh, everyone knows that, Tom Fish. Go home 
with your old stories!” 

There was a note of disappointment in their voices 
and they all laughed. The man muttered something 
about there being old and old, and subsided. 

Blueneck came a little nearer. 

“ Might I ask what you are talking about ? ” he said. 

Cip de Musset rolled his quid into his cheek and 
spat before he replied. 

“A rowboat load o’ rum and two men lost going 
from here to Bradwell,” he said laconically. 


130 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


“Ah,” said Granger, “wonderful strange.” 

“What, ain’t the boat been washed up?” said 
Blueneck, glad to enter into the conversation. 

“No, nothing found at all,” said Granger eagerly, 
as he shifted his position slightly. “Nothing at all. 
But, ah, well,” he added, “I don’t know what’s come 
to them.” 

“Would the Preventative men have catched them, 
think you?” remarked Cip, chewing. 

“Now that are likely,” said Granger sarcastically. 
“Ain’t ’it? There not being a sign of a Preventative 
man these nine months! Oh, yes, Master de Musset, 
it are likely they’d be spry enough to catch 
two chaps in a rowboat in the middle of the Black- 
water without a soul on the Island or the mainland 
knowing aught. Lord, you ought to ha’ been an 
excise man yourself, you ought.” 

“Maybe, Granger, maybe,” said Cip de Musset 
placidly and without ceasing to chew. 

“Maybe they drank the liquor and then pulled out 
the bung and sunk her theirselves,” suggested Hab- 
akkuk, sniffing violently. 

Granger turned slowly in his seat and let his gaze 
fall upon the nervous little man for a second or two 
before he spoke. 

“Ah! Master Rheum-in-the-head, maybe they 
did,” he said, “and maybe the devil come along and 
carried them off in a thunder-cloud, or maybe a sea- 
serpent swallowed them. Eh?” 

Habakkuk looked into the others’ unsmiling faces 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


131 

and sniffed, while a weak, ineffectual little smile 
spread over his bilious, pimply face, and then, as 
Granger betrayed no amusement, it struck him that 
he must have said something sensible, so he answered, 
‘‘Ay, most likely,” wagging his head sagely. 

The company burst into a roar of laughter, and 
Habakkuk, feeling that this time he had been witty, 
joined with them happily. 

“Ah, no, but it is unnatural,” continued Granger 
thoughtfully after the laughter had subsided. “And 
ye know it ain’t the first time a rowboat o’ rum and 
two chaps have been lost,” he went on. “ Just in the 
same way, too, started off after dawn and never seen 
no more. Ah, unnatural, that’s what it is.” 

“The currents be plaguey strong out i’ the chan¬ 
nel,” said French, looking up for a moment. 

Granger was up in arms at once. 

“Currents!” he ejaculated. “Now tell me, just 
tell me, Master French, do you think either Clarry 
Kidley or Gustave Norton would be likely to run into 
anything like that, an’ if they did, to stay in it ? Just 
tell me!” 

French shrugged his shoulders and continued to 
explain to Red the kitten’s natural objection to being 
stroked from tail to the ears. 

Granger looked round triumphantly. “Ah, I 
don’t know, I don’t know,” he said at last. 

“More do we,” said Habakkuk with a sniff, and 
the talk drifted to other channels. 

Blueneck was feeling that perhaps the world was 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


132 

not so dreary a place as he had imagined, when the 
door burst open, and young Tant Pullen rushed in 
without a hat and very breathless. He looked 
round the room for a moment as though search¬ 
ing for someone. At last his quick bright eyes fell 
upon Blueneck and he darted over to him. 

“Look out you, get out of here and hide quick,” 
he gasped as well as he could for lack of breath. 

The Spanish sailor looked at him in surprise, and 
the rest of the company, seeing that something was 
afoot, turned to listen. 

Tant took the sailor by the collar when he saw 
that the man did not move. 

“Quick, hurry, or he’ll get you,” he said. 

Blueneck opened his mouth in astonishment. 

“Why—what?” he ejaculated. 

Tant took a deep breath. 

“My mother’s bin beatin’ my father, because he 
said that she’d took presents from strangers,” he 
volunteered. The company began to laugh and 
Blueneck still looked bewildered. 

Tant gave one anxious look at the door 

“Mother says I was to come and tell you,” he said. 

Again the circle rocked and the mystified Blueneck 
looked up. 

“Well?” he said. 

Tant sighed. 

“You best come,” he said, “my father’s wonder¬ 
fully riled after he’s been beat by my mother, an’ 
he’s coming up here to beat you now.” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


i 33 

“Oh!” The company went off* into another parox¬ 
ysm of laughter, and Blueneck began to see a little 
more light in the matter. “Let him come,” he 
said, shrugging his shoulders. 

Hal stepped forward from the dresser where he 
had been arranging tankards. 

“You better go, Master Blueneck,” he said. 
“Joe’s wonderfully strong, and after he’s bin beat by 
his wife there’s no holding him.” 

Blueneck hesitated. Then he shrugged his shoul¬ 
ders. Whatever he was, Dick Delfazio’s mate was 
no coward and he stood his ground. 

“I’m not feared,” he said; “let him come.” 

Hal looked at Gilbot who had been watching the 
scene attentively. 

“Ohsh he’sh all right,” said the old man. “Let 
him come, Hal.” 

Hal shrugged his shoulders, and sent Anny up¬ 
stairs to look to the guest’s room. Then he 
quietly and unobtrusively moved everything mov¬ 
able to the sides of the room, so leaving a clear space 
in the centre. 

The company also shrugged their shoulders and 
edged a little away from Blueneck so that the sailor 
found himself sitting alone on a bench. He looked 
round him uneasily, but did not move. 

Suddenly Tant, who had been looking out of the 
window, remarked in a stage whisper, “Here he 
come,” and then dived under a pile of sacking in a 
far corner. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


134 

Nobody spoke and the silence was almost uncom¬ 
fortable. Little Red noticed it, and after looking 
about put his arms round French’s neck and climbed 
on to his knee. 

“Put Win into your pocket,” he whispered, “she 
got hurt last time Nan and Pet fought.” 

French obeyed and, moving a little farther into 
the chimney corner, he looked up shyly at Sue, who 
smiled and came round the high seat to sit beside him. 

French made room for her on the inside of the 
bench, and she took Red from him and held the 
child herself. 

By this time heavy footsteps could be heard com¬ 
ing across the yard, and the Ship waited in a silence 
only broken by Habakkuk’s sniffs and the plaintive 
mews of Red’s little kitten who was shut in the dark¬ 
ness of French’s big pocket. 

Then the door was kicked open with such a clatter 
that Habakkuk nearly fell off his seat with nervous¬ 
ness, and Joe stalked into the room. All his usual 
good humour was gone and he seemed to Blueneck, 
at least, to have got quite six inches taller. He stood 
for a moment looking round, his face flushed and his 
eyes dark with fury; a long, livid weal ran from his 
left eye to the corner of his mouth, and he trembled 
with anger as he stood there breathing heavily. 
Then, as he caught sight of Blueneck, he gave one 
whoop of exultation and leapt across the room, land¬ 
ing on the top of the unfortunate man, whom he pro¬ 
ceeded to punch with all his might. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


i35 

Blueneck was no indifferent fighter himself, and 
as Joe’s first blow landed in his ribs a dull light of 
anger kindled in his eyes and he forced his way 
to his feet, and then the greatest fight that the 
old Ship Tavern had ever witnessed began. They 
closed in, and Blueneck tried to take advantage of 
his superior strength by grasping his opponent round 
the body and swinging him over his head, but Joe 
was too wiry for that. Seizing his opportunity he 
dropped low, and throwing his arms round the 
sailor’s knees he suddenly crouched so that the man 
fell over and stretched his body full length on the 
floor. Before he could again regain his feet Joe was 
upon him and they rolled over and over together 
kicking, the Spaniard swearing softly. Joe said 
nothing but grit his teeth and fought steadily and 
swiftly, always making for the man’s throat. At 
last he got there; the Spaniard lay on his back and 
Joe, making a desperate dive between his clawing 
hands, grasped at the hairy throat and held on 
tightly. 

Blueneck’s mouth opened and his eyes bulged; 
slowly his movements grew less effectual and more 
convulsive. Joe held on grimly and without a word; 
finally he stood up. 

“Give him a rum,” he said. “I’ve not done with 
him yet by a long way.” 

Nobody spoke, but Hal stepped forward with the 
rum. He had drawn it in readiness, and between 
them he and Joe raised the half-strangled man to his 


136 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

feet and forced the spirit down his throat. Then, as 
he grew stronger, Joe took him firmly by the collar 
and dragged him out of the Inn, without a word or a 
glance behind him. 

Sue was on her feet in an instant. 

“Will he kill him? ,, she cried. 

Hal shrugged his shoulders. 

“No,” he said, “I don’t reckon so—and if he does, 
w T hat’s a Spaniard, anyway?” 

“Yesh,” said Gilbot, holding out his rumkin to be 
refilled. “What’s a Spaniard, anyway ? Let’sh have 
a shong.” 

And as Joe, his wrath hardly one whit abated, 
dragged the half-suffocated Blueneck down the road 
to the sea, he heard the jovial strains of “Pretty 
Poll” roared out in lively chorus from the Ship’s 
kitchen: 

“Pretty Poll she loved a sailor 
And well she loved he, 

But he sailed to the mouth 
Of a stream in the South, 

And was lost in the rolling sea, 

Lost in the rolling sea /” 

“Ah, ha,” said Joe between his teeth as he shook 
his unfortunate captive by the collar. “And that’s 
what you’re goin’ to be, my lad, ‘lost in the rolling 
sea*.” 

Blueneck opened his mouth to expostulate, but 
Joe swung him round like a meal sack and tightened 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


i37 

his neckerchief, so that it was all he could do to 
breathe, and they hurried on. 

Joe strode over the ground at a tremendous pace, 
dragging the Spaniard after him. And not one other 
word did he speak till they came to the waterside, 
where Joe’s little rowboat, the Amy , flopped and see¬ 
sawed on the rising tide. 

Still keeping one hand on Blueneck’s collar, Joe 
stopped, caught at the riding-line, and pulled it in. 

“Get in,” he commanded. 

Blueneck obeyed as meekly as a lamb, and Joe 
stepped in after him, and pushed off. He rowed 
steadily for some seconds and, as the water was very 
calm, made good progress. About twenty-five 
yards from the shore he pulled in the oars and sat 
looking at the other man a full minute. Then he 
spoke sharply. 

“Change places and row a bit,” he said. 

Blueneck shrugged his shoulders and did not move. 

Joe’s eyes began to sparkle and a dull flash suffused 
his neck and face. 

“Do as I say,” he said quietly. 

The fresh air and the rum had revived Blueneck 
and he began to feel angry again. Still he did not 
move. Joe seized an oar, holding it in both hands; 
he wielded it above his head; it was a clumsy 
weapon, however, and the boat rocked dangerously. 
Instinctively Blueneck drew back, and before he knew 
what he was doing raised himself to a sitting position 
on the gunwale; this was Joe’s opportunity, and he 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


138 

grasped it. Lowering the oar as swiftly as possible he 
hove it sharply into the Spaniard’s stomach, who 
immediately doubled up and fell backward into the 
water. 

Joe crawled along the boat and looked over the 
side. Blueneck came up a little to the left and seized 
hold of the side; Joe pushed him off, and he sank again 
and tried to strike out for the shore, but his wind was 
gone and he floundered, gasping. 

Joe looked at him critically. 

“You won’t come near my wife no more,” he ob¬ 
served, as he threw the helpless man a line. “Oh, 
no, you can’t come in my boat dripping as ye 
are,” he said cheerily as the other, wild-eyed and 
half-drowned, clawed at the boat. “You hang on 
that there line and I’ll tow ye in,” Joe continued, and 
suiting the action to the word picked up both oars and 
struck out. 

When at last the keel grated on the soft shingle, 
Joe got out and after first dropping his anchor looked 
round for Blueneck. The man lay still in the water, 
both hands tightly grasping the line, the ripple of the 
waves tossing him to and fro. 

Joe dragged him in, threw him down on a bank of 
dry seaweed, and stood looking at him for a minute 
or two. 

“Ah, I wonder if he be dead now,” he said to him¬ 
self, and he bent down to lift the sailor’s eyelids. 
He tore open the wet remains of Blueneck’s best 
surcoat and put his hand in the left side. 


BLACK'ERCHIEF DICK 


139 


Then he stood up and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Ah, well!” he said, addressing the unconscious 
body, “seeing that you ain't dead, you may as well 
live, but you don't come round my house in a hurry 
again, or there won't be any not quite dead about it 
—see ? ” 

Blueneck opened his eyes for a second and then 
fell back again into unconsciousness. 

Joe looked round him, heaved a sigh of relief and, 
as he strolled off up to the Ship, his face assumed 
once more its wonted good humour, his heavy sandy 
lashes fell half over his eyes as usual, and, thrusting 
his thumbs in his belt, he whistled as clearly, happily, 
and tunefully as a linnet in May. 


CHAPTER XI 


E VERYTHING on the shore was very dark 
and very silent when Blueneck regained con¬ 
sciousness and sat up. His head ached and 
his body was stiff and cold while his clothes, still wet 
and sticky with brine, clung to him uncomfortably. 

He peered round in the darkness, striving to re¬ 
member where he was and what had happened to him. 
There was no moon, or at least if there was it was so 
hidden behind the clouds as to be of no use to any 
one, and he could only faintly distinguish a kind of 
haze some quarter of a mile in front of him which he 
supposed was the sea. Behind him he could see 
nothing at all, only blackness. He put out a cold, 
trembling hand and felt cautiously about; the first 
thing he touched was the dry, crumbly seaweed. 
Not sure what it was he grasped a handful of it and 
pulled it up. Immediately the sickening stench of 
stale salt water arose and he spat and swore aloud. 
Then he reached out his other hand and touched still 
more seaweed. He groaned with stiffness and pain 
and threw himself back on the heap. As he did so 
his shoulders encountered something hard and he 
almost screamed aloud, so much did it jar him. 


140 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


141 

Changing to a sitting posture again, he felt for the 
obstacle and found that whatever it was it lay be¬ 
neath the seaweed. Wearily he pushed the stuff* 
aside and thrust his hand into the clammy depths 
beneath. The hard thing was lower down still 
and he burrowed feverishly in a tired, thought¬ 
less way, hardly knowing what he did or why he 
did it. 

Suddenly he paused, and felt more gingerly, yes— 
surely he could not be mistaken, he was running 
his hand over the hard round belly of a rum keg. He 
twisted round quickly and winced as his stiffened 
muscles twinged at the movement. Beside the first 
keg he felt another; and yet another at the side of 
that. He lay back exhausted by the effort and won¬ 
dered at his find. He had no doubt it was some 
smuggler's private store, but was surprised that on 
such a lawless coast such secrecy should be resorted 
to. He knew that in Mersea everyone was more or 
less his own master and thought that it was therefore 
a rather unnecessary precaution. 

When he had arrived thus far in his thoughts, 
however, he felt a return of the giddiness which he 
had before experienced and lay back, his eyes open, 
staring in front of him. 

He had not lain so many minutes before he caught 
the glimmer of a light in the distance and he stared 
at it in surprise. It was not coming from the sea and 
was therefore not the riding light of a boat, neither 
was it coming from the direction of the brig or the 


i 4 2 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

Ship Inn, but from the west, from the lonely strip of 
coast between the little villages of East Mersea and 
West Mersea. 

Nearer and nearer it came, till he could see how it 
jogged and danced along the beach, swaying from 
side to side, pausing a minute here, and then darting 
off* again, sometimes vanishing completely only to re¬ 
appear considerably nearer. 

Blueneck watched it, fascinated, a strange, uncanny 
fear creeping over him; everywhere was so dark and 
lonely, and he strained his eyes peering at the light, 
fancying that he saw sometimes a man behind it, 
sometimes a beast, or a fiend. This fear grew upon 
him every moment, and he tried to struggle to his 
feet, but his legs were too benumbed to bear him and 
he sank back again. 

The light came nearer and nearer, dancing and 
swaying more than ever. In a flash the story of the 
lost rowboat ran through his mind and his flesh began 
to creep. 

Like most sailors, and Spaniards especially, Blue- 
neck was very superstitious; he shuddered and his 
teeth chattered as he imagined the thing that was 
holding the lantern to be first a blue swollen corpse 
with dead sightless eyes, then a rampaging devil with 
swinging tail and ram’s horns, and then a mermaid 
whose white teeth were adder’s fangs and whose lips 
were the nightshade’s berries. 

His hand crept up to his neck where a little silver 
crucifix usually hung, but it was gone; he must have 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


143 

lost it in the fight with Joe. He trembled and 
mouthed a prayer. 

The light seemed to be making straight for him, 
and as it came nearer, wild, unearthly crooning noises 
came from it. 

Blueneck gulped, and his eyes started from his head 
and the blood tingled and danced in his veins. 

The noise—it was certainly not a song nor yet the 
cry of an animal, but a sort of long-drawn-out 
sighing on a high quavering note—came nearer and 
grew louder. Now the light was within fifteen paces 
of him and he held his breath. Nearer it came. 

“Dona Maria, let it pass,” he prayed. Now it 
was within five yards of him, and came nearer 
still. Straining his eyes, he could make out a fearful 
bundle-like figure behind the lantern. The noise 
grew louder; nearer it came till the light stopped 
three feet away from him, and fell on the most evil 
and half-human face the terrified sailor had ever 
seen. 

This was the last straw, and Blueneck screamed. 
The sound rang out high and short as he dropped 
back on the weed, half insensible. However much 
the thing with the lantern had frightened him, he 
certainly frightened it with his yell, for it sprang 
back and emitted a howl which started the echoes 
and woke the sea-birds who screamed also as they 
flapped sleepily away. 

Blueneck shut his eyes and waited during three 
seconds of horrible suspense. Then he felt the light 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


144 

beating on his eyelids, and heard a cracked human 
voice very near him say: 

“Oh! ye would be spying on me, would ye, ye 
hell-traitor ? ” 

The words reassured Blueneck more than perhaps 
anything else would have done and he opened his 
eyes. The terrible old face was very near his own, 
and hot spirit-tainted breath blew into his nostrils, 
but what fixed his attention was the glitter of steel 
above the figure’s head. 

Blueneck rose to the situation now that he was as¬ 
sured of the old woman’s mortality (he decided that 
it must be an old woman). He was not the man to 
be frightened of a knife other than his captain’s. 

“Pity a poor sailor; so stiff with the cold that his 
legs will not bear him,” he moaned, in a pitiful plead¬ 
ing whine. 

The old woman laughed horribly. 

“You don’t catch birds like Pet Salt with chaff, 
hell-rat,” she said. 

“Pet Salt!” Blueneck began to understand. 
“Mistress,” he said, “what are you about?” 

“Killing a spying knave,” was the reply, and the 
blade descended until its point pricked his throat. 

Things were turning out more seriously than Blue¬ 
neck had expected, and he spoke quickly. 

“Is it rum you want, lady?” he said as steadily as 
he could, the blade pricking deeper as the words 
moved the muscle of his throat. 

“It is, hell-rat, it is.” Pet Salt bent nearer. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 145 

“And no spying dog shall stop me from getting it. 
Ye waited out here till you were too stiff to move, did 
you? Ah, you blue-livered pike, the devil looks 
after his own.” 

“Then I’m the man to get it for thee. I’m the 
mate of the Coldlight.” 

Blueneck had just time to get out the words or she 
would have killed him. 

“How do I know you be not?” she said shrewdly, 
though visibly shaken at his words, as she withdrew 
the knife. 

“I swear,” began the sailor. 

Pet Salt stopped him. 

“Swear!” she screamed. “What’s a seaman’s 
oath to me?” 

“Look at my garments,” said the anxious Blue- 
neck. “Are they those of a common man or one be¬ 
fitting my station?” 

Pet, like many other women before and since, was 
moved at the sight of the bright colours and good 
stuffs. 

“They be ruined with salt water,” she remarked. 
“What happened to you, hell-rat?” 

Blueneck paused before he spoke. His pride for¬ 
bade him to tell the truth, and his prudence warned 
him against a lie. Finally he made a compromise be¬ 
tween the two and told a fairly plausible story of two 
men setting upon him, of a fearful fight, and finished 
up with a faithful account of the ducking which he 
had received. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


146 

Pet seemed satisfied. How much she believed is 
another matter but, as she often told Ben Farran, 
she understood sea-folk and all their tricks. 

She put up the knife somewhere in her rags and 
set down the lantern. 

“Try and stand,” she commanded. 

Blueneck obeyed as one in a dream; slowly and 
painfully he staggered to his feet, only to drop again 
almost immediately. 

Pet waddled after him. 

“Rub your legs,” she said, “and hurry. You’ve 
got to work for me before the cocks crow.” 

Wearily Blueneck did as he was bid, and the old 
woman hobbled to the bank of seaweed where she 
set to work unearthing the kegs. With a grunt of 
satisfaction she set the last one beside the others and 
turned to the sailor. 

“Come on,” she said. 

Blueneck staggered to his feet; he was still very 
unsteady, but the rubbing had partially restored his 
circulation and he was just able to stumble along. 

Pet pointed to the three kegs. 

“Carry two,” she said shortly. 

Blueneck looked around him hopelessly. It was 
still dark and lonely and some of the horror he had 
felt when he first saw Pet Salt returned to him. He 
shuddered; the bent old figure in front of him clad in 
dirty, evil-smelling rags seemed again to take on some 
of the fear-inspiring qualities of a fiend or marsh- 
goblin. He struggled on to where the kegs were 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


i47 

lying and with great difficulty hoisted one onto his 
shoulder. 

Pet lifted up another. 

“Put this under your other arm,” she said, “and 
mind your stepping; it’s heavy.” 

Blueneck took it without a word. 

Pet picked up the last keg and turned to him, her 
ugly bulbous face showing red with exertion in the 
lantern’s flickering light. 

“Now follow after me,” she said, and hobbled 

off. 

Long afterward Blueneck described this journey 
from the bank of seaweed to Ben Farran’s boat as a 
walk through hell itself. 

Time after time the keg under his arm slipped and 
fell in the soft powdery shingle, and he had to bend 
his stiffened and aching body to pick it up again, 
while the terrible cracked voice of Pet Salt, railing 
in the most fearful language, rang in his ears. 

But he went on. Once he fell and cut his head on 
a breakwater stone, and the old woman kicked him 
with her wood-shod foot and bade him rise in a tone 
that had fear in it as well as command. 

Once they saw a lantern in the far distance and Pet 
made him crouch and wait silent till it passed on. 
Again and again he felt that he must break away and 
regain his lost courage, but always the fear of the dark 
desolateness and the awful old woman prevented 
him, and he went on meekly. 

How at last he managed to climb up the rope 


148 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

ladder and scramble on to the deck of the Pet and 
then down the hatchway to the stifling cabin and 
bunk-room below he did not know. However, he 
did it and fell through the doorway into Ben Farran’s 
presence in a fainting condition. 

When he recovered himself the air was full of a 
strange sickening odour mixed with the fumes of 
steaming rum. 

He looked round him curiously. The room was 
very small even for a boat and marvellously dirty and 
untidy. 

A few rags were bundled together in a corner, form¬ 
ing a rude sort of bed, and an old iron stove smoked 
and spat in another. On the top of this stood an 
iron bowl, and it was from this Blueneck decided that 
the strange smell came. 

In a corner by the stove lay Ben Farran, snoring 
loudly with his mouth open. 

Blueneck looked at him curiously. He had been 
a fine big man, he judged, and had had some strength 
and comeliness, but much rum had changed him and 
he sprawled there a most ungainly, loathsome figure. 
His shoulders were bent till he lost any pretension to 
height, his jaw was weak and drooping, and great blue 
pouches of flesh hung under his eyes. This, com¬ 
bined with an enormous stomach and bent podgy 
legs, gave him a great resemblance to a fat toad. 

Blueneck looked away and turned his attentions 
to himself. He found that his outer garments had 
been removed and that his arms and legs were cov- 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


149 

ered with a black-greenish paste. He looked at 
them in surprise and disgust and began to rub off the 
caked mixture as fast as he could. But he noticed 
that his stiffness had left him and that he felt as well 
and strong as he had done the night before he had 
his fight with Joe Pullen. 

Pet came in presently and he saw that she was 
growing fast like Ben, rum-sodden and old. She 
smiled when she saw him and he thought how horribly 
pale her toothless gums showed across the flaming 
purple redness of her face. 

“Now, master, mate of the Coldlight, I bargain 
with thee,’’ she began as she handed him his clothes 
newly dried and motioned him to dress. 

Blueneck said nothing but took his garments and 
began to put them on. 

“Methinks your captain, the Spanish Dick, has 
set eyes on a pretty wench,” she said slowly. 

The sailor did not look up; he was mournfully re¬ 
garding his best doublet coat stained and faded with 
salt water. 

“Oh, there be many pretty wenches who have had 
his eyes upon them,” he said carelessly. 

Pet swore roundly and with such vehemence that 
he glanced at her. 

“But one particular wench?” she went on, re¬ 
lapsing again into quietness. “I have long ears.” 

Blueneck, who was slow of comprehension, looked 
at her in surprise; her remark struck him as being 
strangely irrelevant. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


150 

“I hear what is said on the Island/’ the old woman 
continued. “I know your captain hath a great 
liking for Ann Farran, Ben’s gran’daughter.” 

Blueneck looked even more puzzled. 

“Ay, and if it be so, what then?” he said. 

Pet smiled again. 

“Your captain carries much rum,” she observed. 

Blueneck nodded and pulled on his boots. 

“This Ann Farran hath but one kinsman in the 
world save her bastard half-brother,” Pet went on 
crooningly. 

Blueneck stood up and began to see what she was 
leading up to. 

“There would be none to look for the wench, or 
hark to the wench if one were quieted,” she went on 
suggestively. 

“And that one loves rum!” observed Blueneck. 

Pet smiled again. 

“And that one loves rum!” she repeated. 

Blueneck stood thinking for a moment or two, his 
hands in his pockets. 

“For this news, mistress, I will say naught of what 
has passed this evening, nor of the three rum kegs,” 
he said. 

Pet nodded; the man seemed intelligent. 

“Nor will I say aught of a lost boat,” continued 
the sailor, darting his bright black eyes upon her. 

Pet blinked. This man was too intelligent, she 
told herself. 

“I will tell the Captain of your bargain,” Blueneck 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


151 

went on. “It may be he will hear. Meanwhile”— 
he looked at the array of little kegs on the floor— 
“you will not die of thirst, mistress.” 

Pet shrugged her shoulders and looked across at 
the slovenly figure by the stove. 

“We both drink well,” she said. 

Blueneck looked from one to the other. 

“Of that I have no doubt,” he sneered, and walked 
out up the hatchway. “I will tell the Captain,” he 
called back, as he climbed down the rope ladder and 
on to the now sunlit wall. 

He walked along, talking to himself in a whisper. 
Now and again he paused and made as though to go 
back. Then he recovered himself and went on, still 
muttering. Finally he shrugged his shoulders. 

“Well, it won’t be the first time rum has bought a 
fair lass, anyway,” he said aloud, “and it ain’t a right 
thing in a man to go against old habits.” 

And lifting his head he began to whistle blithely. 


CHAPTER XII 


I T WAS seven o’clock on the following Wednesday 
evening and there was an air of expectation in 
the Ship’s kitchen. 

The Coldlight was due to sail under a new name at 
the late tide. 

Anny was upstairs preparing herself for Dick’s 
coming, while in the room below the talk ran high 
and many conjectures as to the Captain’s intentions 
were put forward and withdrawn as the company 
drank round the fire. 

“Osh, where’s the man as can withstand a pretty 
lass?” said Gilbot, smiling and hiccoughing over his 
sack. 

“Ah, maybe, maybe, but ’tis a wonderful risky 
thing, this changing names o’ crafts,” put in Granger, 
wagging his head. “I don’t hold with it myself.” 

“Ah, I reckon the Captain knows what he’s about; 
there ain’t many like him to a mile,” remarked an¬ 
other man. 

“You’re right there,” said old Cip de Musset, who 
had been sitting silently in a corner for some time. 
“He ain’t no crab, but I’d not let a lass o’ mine have 
much to do with him.” 

“What do you mean?” said Hal, firing up and 

152 




BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


i 53 

coming over from the doorway where he had been 
standing. 

Old Gilbot began to laugh. 

“Hark to th’ lad,” he gurgled. “One would think 
he loved her hisself.” 

Hal turned away from the light before he spoke, 
and no one saw the deep flush which crept up over his 
features even to the roots of his hair, making his 
scalp tingle uncomfortably. 

“We look after our wenches at the Ship, Master 
Gilbot,” he said hastily. 

Gilbot nodded happily. 

“Ay,” he said, “wesh do, wesh do!” And the talk 
continued. 

Just as the clock by the chimney-piece struck the 
quarter steps were heard coming across the yard, 
and Black’erchief Dick, flanked by Blueneck and 
Habakkuk Coot, and backed by some nine or ten 
hardy ruffians, marched in at the door. 

In an instant the little Spaniard was the centre 
of an enthusiastic group, for, since his first coming to 
the Ship, Dick had done much to make himself popu¬ 
lar, and now his deep musical voice was raised good- 
naturedly above the din calling for rum all round and 
sack for those who wished for it. 

Hal and Sue darted about in obedience to his order 
and soon the company stood, silent, mugs in hand, 
waiting for the toast. At this moment the inner door 
opened and Anny, dressed in the purple gown that 
Sue had given her, stepped into the kitchen. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


154 

Dick was at her side in a moment, and respectfully 
taking her hand led her into the centre of the room. 

“Ann of the Island, her health and beauty for 
ever!” he shouted, his tankard high above his head. 
The toast was given boisterously, and Anny blushed 
and smiled shyly. 

Old Gilbot was enjoying himself thoroughly and took 
advantage of a lull in the conversation to exclaim: 

“Let’sh have a shong.” and then without any 
more ado began to quaver “Pretty Poll” at the top 
of his voice. 

The company took up the burden and the final 
“Lost in the rolling sea” was bellowed till the rafters 
shook. 

“More rum,” called Dick, and then as though obey¬ 
ing an impulse of the moment he sprang upon one 
of the forms and resting one foot on the tresselled 
table, exclaimed, 

“Hark ye, dogs, here is a new song, mine own song, 
a song of Dick Delfazio’s own composing.” 

And then throwing back his head he began to sing 
in a remarkably true tenor voice, swaying his body in 
tune to his own music: 

“Fair as a seagull and proud as the sea, 

As naught in the world is fair Anny to me, 

So gentle, so tender, so wise without guile, 

Oh! Where is another like Ann of the Isle? 

Ann! oh! Ann of the Island, 

Where is another like Ann of the Isle?" 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 155 

By this time the rumkins were all replenished and 
the chorus of the song was taken up and repeated to 
the accompaniment of jingling pewter. 

Dick still kept his position and took up the song 
again, his dark eyes flashing and smiling at the girl 
who watched him, fascinated. 

“Avaunt ye fine ladies of France and of Spain , 

So wayward , so wanton , so proud , and so vain. 

No sweet pleading look , no trick , or no wile , 

Shall ever more tempt me from Ann of the Isle. 
Ann! oh! Ann of the Island , 

Where is another like Ann of the Isle?” 

And then he added before any one could speak, 
“To the brig, dogs,” and skipping lightly off the 
table he offered his hand to Anny and led the way out 
into the yard, the whole company following, roaring 
as they went, 

“Ann ! oh ! Ann of the Island , 

Where is another like Ann of the Isle? ” 

Anny looked up shyly at the Spaniard, her heart 
beating quickly with excitement. He was strolling 
jauntily along, her hand lightly held in his own; the 
starlight touched the jewelled hilt of his knife, and 
his big mournful black eyes winked and smiled 
happily. 

He loved display, pageant, parade; she could see 
that by the way his men marched around him in regu- 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


156 

lated order, and by his gorgeous clothes, and she her¬ 
self became a little intoxicated by the air of excite¬ 
ment and the singing of the laughing, jostling crowd. 

Glancing at him under her lashes, she slipped her 
hand through his arm and laughed a little self¬ 
consciously. 

A curious, self-satisfied, but half-regretful smile 
passed over his face and he bent toward her. 

“Give me a kiss, little one,” he said softly. 

A wave of cold water seemed to dash over Anny’s 
pleasure and she drew her arm away stiffly, saying, 
“Prithee, sir, I would return to the Ship.” 

Again the curious smile spread over Dick’s lips but 
this time there was no regret. 

“Pardon, mistress, methinks thy beauty and mine 
own singing hath made my brain whirl. Prithee, 
prithee, fair one, give me thy hand again.” 

Anny looked at him and held out her hand without 
a word. He seemed so debonair, so gracious, such a 
fine gentleman, and his soft eyes sought hers almost 
beseechingly, she thought. 

“Ann! oh! Ann of the Island , 

Where is another like Ann of the Isle?" 

sang the company as the little procession neared the 
waterside. 

Sue, who walked between French and Cip de 
Musset, looked at the two small figures and sighed 
involuntarily. She also thought the Spaniard was a 
fine gentleman and she also had seen his dark eyes 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


157 

fixed mournfully on the other girrs face, and she be¬ 
gan to laugh and talk noisily to hide her vexation. 

Gallantly Black’erchief Dick led the little serving- 
wench down over the planked way to the rowboat, 
helped her in, and then stepped lightly after her. 
Several of the company crowded in behind them and 
they pushed off. The rest of the band seized other 
boats that were anchored near the shore and followed 
as best they could. 

Once on board the brig, Anny looked about her 
with delight; the shrouded sails and spiderweb-like 
rigging pleased her immensely; the swinging lanterns 
overhead showed the clean boards and newly painted 
sides, and she laughed with satisfaction as she noted 
first one thing and then another. 

Dick was no less pleased; he loved his boat and de¬ 
rived more pleasure from showing it off than from 
anything else in the world. He took her from end to 
end, telling her tales of hairbreadth escapes and secret 
cargoes of papers and documents. Indeed, carried 
away by his own enthusiasm he even hinted that good 
King Charles owed more to Dick Delfazio’s courage 
than His Majesty was aware of. 

Anny listened to him open-mouthed, as he talked 
on, embroidering his tales with a network of fine and 
polished phrases, and interrupting them here and 
there to shout an order or swear at an unhandy 
sailor as the man hurried to obey him. 

When at last the greater part of the company which 
had followed Dick from the Ship stood on the deck of 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


158 

the Coldlighty he opened the proceedings after the 
custom of the Island by calling for rum all round. 

After the toast, the whole crowd, which was by 
this time very boisterous, congregated in the forepart 
of the ship to inspect the figurehead which was at 
the moment covered with a piece of sail-cloth. 

Dick with his inborn love of dramatic effect had 
seen to this, and now stepping forward he whipped it 
off with a flourish and stepped back, observing with 
delight the impression it was making. 

Old Ned Hutton, the ship's carpenter, was cer¬ 
tainly not an artist, but he had done his best, and all 
that paint and a chunk of rough-hewn wood could do 
had been done. The figure was undoubtedly meant 
to represent Anny and that was enough for Mersea 
folk. Everybody cheered loudly, and Dick called 
for more rum. Then he and the girl went forward to 
examine the figurehead more closely. 

The ugly awkward thing was profusely decorated 
with gold paint; so much Anny could see by the light 
of the lantern which Dick gallantly held for her, and 
her name, “ANNY,” was painted on the bright blue 
band that went round the figure’s black head. 

“’Tis lovely,” she whispered half to herself as 
she ran her fingers over the great arms and breasts 
on which the paint was hardly dry. 

Dick smiled and made her the obvious compliment, 
and they went down to the bows and leaned over the 
gunwale so as to see the four great white letters, 
“ANNY,” painted on the smooth brown sides. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


i59 

The girl was delighted, and her infectious gur¬ 
gling laugh rang out clearly several times on the cold 
air as she listened to Dick’s sparkling conversa¬ 
tion. 

“Tide’s full and wind fair,” sang out a voice sud¬ 
denly from the watch-tower. 

Instantly there was confusion: Dick shouted 
orders here and there but did not take his hand from 
Anny’s arm. Everyone made for the boats shouting 
farewells to the crew which responded cheerfully. 

Dick bent nearer to the girl. 

“I will come again,” he said softly. 

Anny smiled and nodded. 

“We are ever pleased to see company at the Ship,” 
she said demurely, slipping her arm out of his grasp 
and moving over to the side where French, Sue, and 
Hal waited for her. 

Dick followed her. 

“Give us your blessing, mistress,” he said loudly. 
There was silence at once: the sailors attached much 
importance to a blessing and they stood quietly. 

Anny looked round desperately; she had never 
had a blessing in her life, much less given one, and for 
a moment she was entirely at a loss. No one spoke, 
however, so at last she crossed herself devoutly and 
said as clearly as her nervousness would permit, “I 
pray God bless this ship, Amen.” 

“Amen,” repeated the crew solemnly, and then 
dashed off on their business and the bustle recom¬ 
menced. 


i6o BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

Sue climbed over the side of the boat, French 
followed her, and then Hal. 

“Farewell, Ann of the Island,” said the Spaniard 
softly. “I will return to thee.” 

Anny looked at him and he seemed to her very 
comely. She held out her hand and he raised it to 
his lips. 

“Farewell, sir,” she said, and then followed her 
lover into the little boat. 

“Farewell!” came the deep and almost beautiful 
voice again; there was the clink of chains and the 
anchor was weighed, and then the brig, her sails all 
set, glided out into the channel. 

Hal bent his back to the oar he was plying and 
spoke to the other three in the little rowboat without 
looking up. 

“There goes a damned nuisance off the Isle for a 
bit,” he said. 

French grunted and pulled hard. Sue sighed and 
looked out to sea, while Anny laughed a little ruefully, 
and patted Hal's broad shoulders with her little 
brown hand. 


CHAPTER XIII 


~NY, are you gone to sleep yet?” Sue sat up 



in her bed and peered through the darkness to 


-“■ where the other girl lay in a far corner. Her 
hair was unbound and fell over her coarse night 
garment like a soft black shawl as she leant forward, 
speaking almost in a whisper. 

It was nearly a month since Dick had sailed away 
from the Island, and the quiet country life had flowed 
peacefully on at the Ship without interruption. But 
Sue had not forgotten the little Spaniard. It was a 
continual source of amazement to her that she could 
have entertained a liking for him or even a thought 
when big handsome Ezekiel French was by, but she 
was not sure about Anny. 

Sue had an observant eye, and she noticed that Hal 
and the girl were not so often together as they had 
used to be, and she drew her own conclusions. She 
had a kind heart, and she felt herself Anny’s guardian 
in a sense. 

Poor, quaint, foolish little Anny, she thought, so 
fond of admiration, so willing to love and be loved, 
so pretty and so gentle; and then she thought of the 
Spaniard, with his bright, devil-may-care eyes, and 


162 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


full red lips, and she nodded her head into the dark¬ 
ness and leaned forward again. 

“Anny,” she said distinctly. 

“Ay.” Anny’s voice came clearly out of the dark 
corner. 

“Have you been asleep yet?” whispered Sue. 

“Nay.” Anny turned over on her side. 

“Did you not hear me speak before?” the other 
girl persisted. 

Anny sighed and turned back again. 

“Nay, I have lain long a-thinking,” she said. 

Sue drew her knees up to her chin and clasped them 
with her arms before she spoke again. 

“Do you ever think of the Spaniard?” she said at 
last, and then added as Anny vouchsafed no answer: 
“Black’erchief Dick?” 

Anny moved in her bed. 

“Oh, him!” she said with a note of contempt in 
her pretty childlike voice. “Oh, nay!” 

Sue sighed again, and when she spoke her tone had 
a certain tenderness in it. 

“Why do you lie to me, Anny Farran?” she said. 

Anny sighed softly. 

“Oh! Mistress Sue,” she said, “what would you 
have me tell you? How many times he begged a 
kiss of me, or held my hand, or bore my onions with 
his fair white hands?” 

Sue flushed. 

“Sure he never carried onions for thee!” she said. 

“Marry! did he not?” said Anny quickly. “Ay, 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


163 

with his thin white fingers cracking under their 
weight, and the muddied side o’ the skep rubbing on 
his silken hose, did he carry onions for me, and I 
stumbling along at his side for all the world like a 
Hythe oyster wench. Oh! Lord, the tales he did tell,” 
and she broke off into a little chuckle, and Sue 
frowned. 

“I would speak seriously with you, Anny,” she 
began. 

Anny sighed and tossed like a naughty child and 
then resigned herself to the lecture she felt was com¬ 
ing. 

“I am listening,” she said. 

Sue spoke earnestly and sincerely. 

“Methinks you care too much for the Spaniard, 
lass,” she said. 

Anny gasped audibly but said nothing, and Sue, 
mistaking the sound for a sigh of confession, went on: 

“He is a dangerous man for a young wench to think 
on,” she said. “I would not trust a man who looked 
so boldly at every smirking lass who chanced to 
stand in his way as he walked from the yard to the 
brig. Ah! you may laugh, but I know; I served in 
this inn long before you came, and I’ve seen men and 
wenches, time and again. Remember what befell 
Maria Turnby when her husband left for the Indies. 
There’s a thing for him to hear when he comes back 
again, poor fellow—his own children left to starve 
that sweetbreads may be served for another man’s 
brats. Oh, Anny, lass,” Sue’s voice shook in its 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


164 

earnestness, “have a care, have a care. Men be 
eels wi’ maids. And this Delfazio, as he is pleased to 
call himself, is a deal more eel-like than many other 
menfish. What with his soft laughter, and hands 
like white and polished bone, together with black 
wanton eyes! Oh! have a care, I know tales of him; 
they say no one ever dares to come between him and 
his wishes, and that never since he was a squalling 
brat has he been stayed from getting what he wants. 
Anny, perchance he wants you, and perchance you 
will be bewitched into letting him get his way.” 

Anny sat up on her straw mattress, her bright eyes 
glittering in the ray of starlight which shone in 
through the uncurtained window, and her little white 
teeth clenched. 

“Methinks you wrong me, mistress,” she said, 
restraining her voice with difficulty. “I have no 
love for any crawling foreigner. What if he do eat 
and talk like the quality; I tell thee there are thirty 
other men I would rather marry than a brown¬ 
skinned Spaniard.” 

“Marry?” Sue laughed and Anny flushed. 

“Methinks,” she went on, her voice becoming 
colder at every word, “that not to me so much as to 
thee, Mistress Sue, should such talk be addressed. Is 
your heart so free from thoughts of this same Dick 
that you can hold him up to me as dangerous ? What 
was it made thee lose thy taste for Master French’s 
talk so suddenly? Oh! truth! you make me sick 
to see you take me for so senseless a wench that you 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 165 

think I do not see your cleverness. Mistress, be¬ 
ware of jealousy/’ 

Sue gasped. She had never considered the possi¬ 
bility of her words being taken in this way, and she 
could think of no adequate reply at that moment 
save a reproachful, “Anny!” 

There was silence for a moment or two and then 
Anny spoke again over her shoulder. 

“Rest assured,” she said, “’tis not thoughts of 
thy pesky little cheap-jack that keeps me awake o’ 
nights. There be many here better than he, and one 
amongst them whom I love.” 

Then she buried her head under the blankets and 
did not speak again, in spite of Sue’s protestations 
of dislike for Dick, and the elder girl, getting tired of 
talking to seemingly deaf ears, lay down also and 
beguiled herself to sleep with thoughts of her own 
lover. 

The next day broke fine and fresh after the heavy 
rainfall of the preceding three weeks, but Sue went 
about her work with a certain nervous fidgetiness 
which irritated Anny and sent her out over the fields 
with Hal. 

Several times when they were out Sue went up 
to her room and there peered into the cracked mirror, 
putting a curl back here, another forward there, 
smoothing down her eyelashes with a moistened 
thumb and forefinger, and biting her lips till the red 
blood suffused them glowingly. More often did she 
go to the window, however, and stand there for 


166 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


minutes on end, staring out into the new begreened 
landscape, where the young leaves danced like lamb¬ 
kins in the cool, strong sea breeze, the sun on their 
wet surfaces lending them some of the splendour of 
jewels. 

Sue had made up her mind. Nobody came to the 
Ship all the morning, and by three o’clock she was in 
no pleasant humour, so old Gilbot found when he 
asked her to sing for him, for she was up and off” in a 
moment with the sharp remark, “that there was more 
to do in the world than sing and get deep in liquor.” 

Gilbot was amazed; his little blue eyes stared sur- 
prisedly in front of him, and he absent-mindedly put 
his rumkin upside down on the stove and it was some 
minutes before he discovered that the kitchen was 
reeking with burnt rum dregs. 

This made Sue angrier still, and she bustled about, 
throwing open the doors, muttering the while that 
she was ashamed to let visitors into a room that smelt 
like Pet Salt’s boat and looked like a sty. 

Little Red Farran, however, found her in a very 
different mood, for when he came creeping into the 
scullery with his kitten (now wellnigh a cat) tucked 
under his cape, she caught him up in her arms and 
kissed him and then to his astonishment gave him a 
large slice of oatmeal cake high-heaped with quince 
jelly and sent him off” on his way rejoicing. 

Her charity was well rewarded, for some two 
minutes later the kitchen door was kicked open and 
Red and French came in together. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


167 

Sue began at once to bustle about with unnatural 
gaiety, and Gilbot regarded her with still greater as¬ 
tonishment, until he suddenly looked round and saw 
French. Then he nodded his head sagely once or 
twice, and, getting up with difficulty, tottered to get 
his coat which hung behind the door. 

“Redsh an’ Ish goin’ foa walk,” he announced. 

Red gave a whoop of delight and ran after him 
happily. 

French looked after them in surprise. 

“Whatever made him go off like that, now?” he 
said, as he sat down at the table. 

Sue blushed and clanged the pots together noisily. 

“I’m sure I don’t know,” she said almost sharply. 

French turned to her, his handsome boyish face 
blank with astonishment. 

“Why, what’s the matter with you?” he said. 

Sue shrugged her shoulders and bit her lips. Why 
was he so different to-day, she wondered? 

“Me—oh, nothing; is there aught in my face that 
should make you ask that?” 

Sue turned a fiery cheek toward the young giant, 
and then moved away. 

French got up. 

“I don’t know what’s taken you all,” he said, 
puzzled. “When I first comes in, Master Gilbot 
flies out wi’ the young lad, and now you look at 
me as though I’d done some mortal wrong. What 
is it?” 

“Oh! go to with ye.” Sue’s back was toward him 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


168 

and he could not see her face but her voice sounded 
sharp. “I’m getting your rum as fast as may be.” 

“What need you be worrying about rum?” 

French looked round him miserably. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, changing his weight from one 
foot to the other and his hands becoming noticeable 
and awkward. 

Sue only sighed impatiently and busied herself 
with the rum. 

French turned on his heel. 

“All’s well then,” he said finally. “I’ll be getting 
down West. I reckon I knows when I’m welcome or 
not, Mistress—Mistress Susan Gilbot,” and he strode 
to the door. “There’s other inns,” he said mean¬ 
ingly. 

Sue turned about in a moment. 

“Oh, wait for your rum, Master French,” she said. 

French did not move but stood straddle-legged in 
the doorway looking out into the yard. 

“Rum? Oh, that don’t matter; an inn’s got more 
uses than just to sell rum, mistress,” he said. 

“Indeed, to provide wenches for any man to insult, 
I reckon,” said Sue, tossing her head and dashing her 
hand across her eyes. 

French turned round quickly. 

“Why, who’s been insulting you, lass?” he said 
sharply. 

Sue laughed and turned her head away. 

“What’s that to you?” she said. 

French shrugged his shoulders. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 169 

“I’m going,” he remarked, and stepped down the 
stone stair into the yard. 

Sue swallowed once and then ran after him. 

“Prithee wait while I hot your rum, sir,” she said. 

French turned willingly. 

“I’d do aught for you when you ask me like that, 
Sue,” he said gently, as he followed her back into the 
kitchen and sat down while she bustled around with a 
tankard, hardly knowing what she did. 

French watched her critically. 

“Aught been upsetting you, mistress?” he asked. 

“Nay.” Sue blushed again and stumbled over a 
form. 

The big man sighed and looked into the lire. 

“Been thinking of the Spaniard?” he asked half 
between his teeth. 

“No,” said Sue so vehemently that he jumped. 
“I have not, nor am like to.” 

French smiled on her. 

“Well, that’s all right, then, ain’t it?” he said 
cheerfully. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she 
said stiffly. 

French’s smile faded. 

“No, that’s right,” he said almost mournfully, 
“that’s right.” 

And there was silence for a few moments. He 
drank his rum, and after opening and shutting his 
mouth once or twice, rose to go. 

Sue watched him to the door and then in spite of 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


170 

herself the tears began to trickle down the side of her 
nose, and she sobbed once audibly. 

French was at her side in a moment. 

“What is the matter, lassie?” he said kindly, all 
his shyness vanishing as he whipped out a large 
yellow handkerchief and began to wipe her eyes 
hastily. “Are you ill? 

Sue sobbed violently. 

“No,” she said angrily, and then snatching the 
handkerchief out of his hand buried her face in it. 

French put a big hand on each of her shoulders 
and shook her gently. 

“If I asked you for something would you give it 
to me?” he said. 

Sue still covered her face with her hands. 

“Oh! why don't you ask me?” she sobbed. 

French lifted her up in his arms to kiss her, and she 
stopped crying and began to blush as he carried her 
over to the chimney corner where they sat, laughing 
and whispering, till Gilbot and Red, driven in by the 
rain, which had restarted with as much violence as 
ever, came for their tea. 

“I thought you watched that damned Spaniard a 
deal too much, sweetheart,” said French, as he and 
Sue walked to the end of the lane together, although 
the rain came down in torrents. 

“Oh! go along with you. Would I not rather 
have a man to love than a live knife?” said Sue, as 
she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. 


CHAPTER XIV 


M ASTER FRANCIS MYDDLETON leaned 
back in his chair and gently stuffed a wad of 
coarse Virginia into the slightly blackened 
bowl of his stubby clay pipe, and lifted his gouty foot 
on to one of the bronzed firedogs which ornamented 
his spacious hearth, and then after pulling once or 
twice at the short stem, he took out a bundle of 
letters from one of his capacious pockets and began 
to read them. They were from his son who held a 
fairly responsible place at the Court of His Gracious 
Majesty King Charles II, and from time to time a 
low wheezing chuckle broke from the old man’s lips 
and he coughed and spat, the tears of laughter start¬ 
ing to his eyes as he read. 

“The sly devil,” he muttered, laughing, “bribed 
her serving-wench with a kiss, did he?” 

“Oh! dearie, dearie me—Good King Jamie was 
more particular. What a thing it is to be young and 
to have a king to serve,” and he laughed again, this 
time quite loudly. 

A female voice called shrilly from the room above: 
“What’s ailing you, Francis?” 

Master Myddleton put the letters hastily into his 
pocket. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


172 

“’Tis naught, Eliza, my foot doth trouble me 
somewhat.” 

“ Marry,” came the high, strident voice from the 
other room, “’tis strange that a gouty foot should 
make you laugh like a moon-struck lunatic.” 

Master Myddleton made no reply, and after a 
moment’s pause the voice went on again: 

“’Tis a wonder you can laugh when we have a man 
coming to take the very bread out of our mouths. You 
should be praying the Lord to succour your wife and 
daughter, not laughing yourself daft by the fireside.” 

The old man sighed and shook the ashes from his 
pipe and began slowly to refill it. 

“What’s o’clock?” he called out after a minute or 
so’s silence. 

“Half after eight; he should be here by now if the 
river ain’t high over the bridle path at Tenpenny 
Heath.” 

“Ay,” said Master Myddleton reflectively. 

There was the sound of a chair being pushed back 
and of heavy steps on the stairs, and Mistress Eliza 
Myddleton entered the dining room where her hus¬ 
band sat. 

She was a big fair woman who still preserved a rem¬ 
nant of the great beauty which had once been hers, 
but as she often told her neighbours when she was in 
a confidential mood, what with having a rapscallion 
stepson and a pretty daughter to look after, an excise 
man for a husband, and also being a staunch, God¬ 
fearing woman and a puritan at that, lines and 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


173 

wrinkles would come and they had—as indeed any 
one might note for himself. 

Now as she came into the room, her thin face pale 
with worry, Francis looked at her, and old villain that 
he was, he wondered why he had ever married her. 

“What are you going to say to him?” began the 
lady, planting herself before him, her bony arms 
akimbo. 

Master Francis shrugged his shoulders. 

“Say?” he said. “Why, naught!” 

Mistress Eliza threw her hands above her head in 
a gesture of despair. 

“You would,” she said. “I don’t believe you 
realize the state we are in. I don’t believe you care 
if your wife and child are thrown into the streets. I 
don’t believe you could say a word to save yourself 
hanging. In God’s truth, I don’t believe you have 
your wits about you, Master Myddleton.” 

Francis sat still puffing at his pipe and his wife 
went on: 

“Had you only done your duty, and gone out after 
the Mersea smugglers, I might be a fine lady this day, 
or at least-” 

“A widow!” put in Francis, without removing the 
pipe from his mouth. 

“Oh!” Mistress Eliza gasped. “For shame, 
Master Myddleton, are you a coward?” 

“No more ’an others, but, Lord, Eliza, you 
wouldn’t have me trapesing about i’ the dusk hunting 
rum kegs?” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


174 

Francis took the pipe from his mouth and looked 
at his wife, a quizzical expression in his little gray 
eyes. 

“’Tis what you’re paid for,” said Mistress Myddle- 
ton, lifting her eyes to the low-raftered ceiling. 

Master Myddleton coughed explosively, and his 
face grew red with anger. 

“God’s body! Isn’t that just like a woman,” he 
shouted, dashing his hand so violently on the arm of 
his chair that his pipe flew into shivers, whereupon 
he swore an oath which made his wife shudder. 
“Just like a woman sweet as honey till aught goes 
wrong,” he continued, getting more and more angry 
at every word. “Did you ever talk of hunting 
smugglers before the Mayor of Colchester must needs 
appoint an assistant to me? Lord! woman, you 
drink smuggled tea every day of your life so as to be 
i’ the fashion—don’t talk to me!” 

“It’s very well for you to call this Thomas Playle 
an assistant, Master Myddleton,” observed his wife 
with asperity. “’Tis you are to be his assistant, I’m 
thinking. That will be a nice thing for the neigh¬ 
bours to hear—now if only our Matilda and he 
could-” 

Francis Myddleton fairly roared with fury. 

“Peace with ye, designing woman,” he shouted. 
“Will I have my only daughter disposed of before my 
eyes? Unfeeling mother! Elizabeth, I am amazed 
at ye.” 

Mistress Myddleton gulped with indignation. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 175 

“Francis, I am surprised at you. I disposing of 
your daughter! Oh, you scandalous man! Why 
ever was I married to such a lump of lying perfidy?” 

“God knows!” said Master Myddleton bitterly. 

Mistress Elizabeth’s answering outbreak was 
checked by the sound of horses’ hoofs in the cobbled 
yard outside. 

“There he is—God help us,” she had time to 
whisper, and then composing her features into an 
amiable smile went out to meet their unwelcome 
guest. 

Master Myddleton sat looking down at the frag¬ 
ments of his pipe: then he felt in his pocket and drew 
out a twist of tobacco which he smelt and rolled 
lovingly round his fingers. 

He sighed. 

“Drat women and work,” he said to the roaring 
fire which blazed, crackled, and spat as though it 
quite agreed with him. 

Master Thomas Playle sprang out of his saddle 
and threw his bridle rein to the grinning ostler who 
ran out to meet him, and then marched up to the 
front door and pulled the bell sharply. 

Mistress Myddleton was before him in an instant 
and so overwhelmed him with welcome and motherly 
concern for his wet, muddy condition that he had 
nothing to say for himself for a minute or so. 

The candlelight in the stone-flagged hall showed 
the newcomer to be a tall, rather handsome man, 
some seven and twenty years of age. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


176 

Mistress Myddleton regarded him with approval 
and mentally summed up her daughter Matilda’s at¬ 
tractive qualities: the result seemed to please her, for 
she smiled and conducted him to the dining room. 

“My husband hath a troubled foot,” she was at 
some pains to explain, “and prays you to pardon him 
for not being on the steps to meet you.” 

Playle bowed coldly and followed his voluble host¬ 
ess in silence. 

Master Myddleton looked up casually as they en¬ 
tered, and after returning the younger man’s bow 
without rising he bade his wife hasten the supper, 
and, after waiting until she was out of the room, mo¬ 
tioned his guest to a comfortable chair on the op¬ 
posite side of the hearth. 

“His worship, the Mayor and his-” began the 

young man sententiously as he sat down and 
stretched out his high mud-caked boots to the 
friendly fire. 

Master Myddleton waved his hand. 

“After we have eaten, I pray you. The morning 
will do,” he said. “Until then I would like to speak 
of this heinous crime of smuggling as carried on in 
this town and on the Island over the Fleet.” 

Playle felt disquieted. Here he was in this old 
gentleman’s house, drying himself at his fire and 
making himself generally comfortable. How could 
he boldly announce that these affairs would be his 
care in future, and that Master Myddleton need 
trouble himself no further? He decided to put it off 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


177 

till supper was over. After all, he considered the old 
man must know something of use to him in his 
future work. 

Master Playle was a very conscientious young man 
and one who had ambitions. He had fought for this 
appointment and meant to show his ability. He had 
served for a time in one of His Majesty’s own regi¬ 
ments and still held a commission. 

Master Myddleton began to speak. 

“We have a very difficult task before us, Master 
Playle,” he began in the deep pompous voice which 
he used on all official occasions. “I think I can 
truthfully say that on no other part of the coast is 
King Charles’ law—God bless him—more persist¬ 
ently and I might almost say courageously violated.” 

He paused, and his little gray eyes sought a flicker 
of surprise on the young man’s face, but they were 
disappointed. Playle’s easy smile still played round 
his thin lips as he listened with polite attention. 

Master Myddleton began again. 

“With such violent, all-daring, cut-throat gang 
against me, I have—er—yes, to be plain with you, 
Master Playle—I have—er—felt it unwise—not to 
say foolhardy—to take more than preliminary meas¬ 
ures against these unruly vagabonds until I received 
assistance from headquarters.” 

Playle’s smile deepened and Francis, looking up 
suddenly, saw it. Instantly his manner changed. 

“Ah, I see you know something of their customs, 
Master Playle,” he said, laughing wheezily. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


178 

Playle looked up a little disconcerted, but he 
laughed with the old man and nodded his head. 

“I can see I can be quite plain with you/’ went on 
Francis, his eyes scanning the other’s face. 

Playle was a simple, straightforward soldier, and 
he felt rather at a disadvantage with this quick¬ 
witted old villain with the gouty foot. However, he 
deemed it prudent to make some remark. 

“Oh, yes, of a certainty, of a certainty!” he said as 
intelligently as possible. “I am determined to abol¬ 
ish this illegal trading.” 

Master Myddleton sighed; he began to see a little 
more clearly how the land lay. 

“Very right, an excellent spirit in youth,” he said 
heartily. “Go in and conquer—sweep all before 
you. That’s how I like to hear young people talk. 
It is for the old with our gouty feet and long experi¬ 
ence to sit at home and think out campaigns, and 
for you, the young and healthful in body, to carry 
them out gloriously.” 

He slapped his knee in applause at his own words, 
and then, as the young man said nothing, but sat still 
smiling into the fire, he continued, his voice resuming 
the pompous note. 

“But believe me, you have a difficult task, as I 
said before—a difficult task indeed. Now let me ad¬ 
vise you first to attack the smuggling here on the 
mainland. Had you half a troop of infantry it 
would be madness to attempt to quieten Mersea 
Island.” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


179 


Playle sat up and became interested. 

“The Island/’ he said. “Yes, I’ve heard of the 
smuggling there; the block-house there was well- 
guarded in the war, I know.” 

Master Myddleton waved him silent, and con¬ 
tinued to talk. “There are two principal smuggling 
vessels,” he said casually. “The first, The Dark 
Blood, belongs to a man called de Witt, and then 
the Coldlight, which belongs to a mysterious Span¬ 
iard.” 

Young Playle gasped. That the old man should 
know all this and yet take no measures to stop it 
amazed him, and his youthful imagination began to 
play round his old ambitions until he saw himself 
lord of the customs and His Majesty’s right-hand 
man. 

“Why not stop all vessels that enter the river?” 
he said. 

“I had thought of it—I had thought of it,” said 
Myddleton, wagging his head sagely. 

“Well, I’m going to do it,” replied Playle quickly. 

Old Francis laughed deprecatingly and was about 
to answer him when Mistress Eliza, her daughter, a 
tall girl fair like her mother and buxomly beautiful, 
with their little maid, Betsey, entered with the 
supper. 

During the meal, Mistress Eliza talked almost in¬ 
cessantly, and her husband filled up the few pauses in 
her streams of conversation with lurid stories of the 
smugglers’ cruelty. Once after a more vivid one 


i8o BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

than usual, Mistress Matilda looked archly at the 
young soldier. 

“If only it could be stopped!’’ she said, while her 
mother made some remark about poor little Matty’s 
childishness. 

Thomas Playle looked up from the lump of boiled 
fish he was eating. 

“It shall be stopped, mistress,” he said. “Such 
flagrant crime is a disgrace to the glorious court of 
His Gracious Majesty.” 

While Francis felt the bundle of letters in his 
pocket and grinned wickedly to himself. 

“You have some men in your pay and arms for 
them, I suppose, Master Myddleton?” observed 
Playle a little later on in the evening. 

“About five,” said Francis, and then, noting the 
other’s surprise, he added: “But some twenty more 
trustworthy men can be called out at a moment’s 
notice, if you find it necessary.” 

Playle could hardly repress a smile of pleasure; 
life seemed suddenly to have opened up to him. 
Twenty-five men at his orders, a gang of ferocious 
smugglers to attack, and a pretty girl to stand by and 
admire at the proper time. His smile broadened. 

His ambitions flew away with him and he sat 
staring at his plate, his brown eyes twinkling with 
pleasure, until Mistress Myddleton had to touch him 
on the shoulder and give him a candle, before he 
realized that Betsey, the little maid, waited to show 
him his room. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


181 


Once in their room Mistress Eliza and her hus¬ 
band argued over the situation until both were ex¬ 
hausted. 

“He’s a handsome man, anyway,” said the lady at 
last, as she brushed her little wisp of gray-yellow hair 
before the oval mirror. “I wonder if Matilda-?” 

Francis, who was already tucked in his side of the 
huge four-poster bed, growled through the curtains, 
and Mistress Eliza bit her lip. 

“He’ll make a difference to the price of tea here¬ 
abouts, I’ll warrant,” she said, after a minute’s 
silence, as she blew out the candles and opened the 
casement. 

Francis grunted. 

“Methinks he’ll be a deal of nuisance to the 
trade,” he said bitterly. “No more cheap tabac— 
God help us.” 

Mistress Eliza echoed his sigh, and they settled 
themselves to sleep. 


CHAPTER XV 


HERE, look, there now, will that be the 
Coldlight — Anny , I mean?” 



A Anny paused in her walk and stared out 
across the bay. Hal followed the direction of her 
hand and then shook his head. 

“Nay,” he said, “’tis too small.” 

Anny sighed and moved on, but the boy still stared 
out at the white-sailed boat on the horizon. 

“Last time I saw a craft like that,” he began re¬ 
flectively, “was when the Preventative folk chased 
Fen de Witt halfway up the Pyfleet and then got 
stuck.” 

Anny stopped quickly. 

“ Lord! It won't be them, will it ? ” she said, a note 
of fear creeping into her voice. 

Hal shrugged his shoulders. 

“Like as not,” he said carelessly. 

The girl stared, fascinated, at the white speck in 
the distance. 

“And the captain coming back this very day!” she 
said. 

Hal reddened at her words, and wheeled round 
fiercely, but she was not looking at him and he turned 
away again. 


182 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 183 

“Hal, what if the Preventative folk got any one?” 
she asked. 

“They’d die, that’s all,” he replied laconically. 

The girl looked round at the early summer land¬ 
scape and shuddered. 

“Look again, are you sure about the boat?” she 
commanded anxiously. 

Hal threw a casual glance over his shoulder. 

“Sure? Sure of what?” he asked gruffly. 

“That it’s the Preventative folk!” Anny shook 
his sleeve as she spoke. 

Hal wrenched his arm out of her grasp, and re¬ 
plied irritably: 

“No, of course I’m not sure; don’t be stupid, girl; 
I only said ’twas like one.” 

Anny looked at him in surprise. 

“What’s the matter?” she laughed; they had come 
to a part where the wall melts into the high-lying 
fields and the path is very wide, and Hal stepped back 
a pace or two and turned a red and angry face 
toward the girl. 

“Look here, Anny,” he said, his voice shaking with 
anger. “I’m tired of this hankering and whining 
after that dirty little Spaniard. You know we’re 
going to be married as soon as I can get some money; 
then I’ll be able to give you things—better things 
than him—aren’t you going to wait for me ? See here, 
I won’t have this carrying on with the foreigner.” 

Anny’s blood was up and she turned to her lover 
as fierce as a tiger-cat. 


184 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

“Indeed, and will you not, Master Hal Grame?” 
she said bitingly. “HI have you know that you 
have no authority over me you—you tapster!” 

Hal blinked; he had never seen Anny like this 
before and he stood staring at her in amazement, his 
mouth half open. 

“I have not hankered after the Spaniard, as you 
call it. ,, 

Anny’s eyes were bright with tears at his injustice, 
but she spoke firmly, and with great intensity. 

“And as for you being tired, master Lord of the 
Island, so is Anny Farran, your servant—very, very 
tired of this fooling. Lord! you child—is it me that 
hankers,” the word seemed to have stuck in her 
mind, for she repeated it, “hankers for the Captain? 
Is it me? Oh, Hal Grame—I—I hate you.” 

Hal stepped back another pace or two and looked 
round him vaguely. This was a new departure of 
Anny’s. He had never seen her so indignant, and he 
thrust his hands in his pockets and turned on his heel. 

“I hope that is the Preventative folk then,” he 
remarked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, 
“then they’ll catch the little dog.” 

Anny reddened. 

“Hal Grame, you’re a jealous coward,” she said 
clearly, and then her tears began to fall and she sat 
down on the grass, looking out over the cloud- 
shadowed water. 

Hal did not speak but stood idly kicking the dust 
with his foot. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 185 

“You’re not saying that you don’t love me?” he 
said confidently. 

Anny bit her lip. 

“I’ve told you I hate you,” she said clearly; she 
was still very angry for the boy’s mistrust had hurt her. 

He turned round slowly. 

“Don’t be silly, Anny,” he said not unkindly. 

Anny furtively wiped her eyes; his confident at¬ 
titude annoyed her, and she spoke clearly. 

“Go away, Hal Grame; I won’t ever marry you.” 

Hal gasped. 

“Anny, you’re bewitched,” he exclaimed. He 
couldn’t have chosen a more unfortunate remark, for 
Anny was more irritated than ever. 

“Nay, not now, but I was, ever to think at all on 
the likes of you,” she snapped. “Oh, go away.” 

Hal wavered; his little sweetheart sat on the grass, 
her face turned away from him, but he felt that she 
was crying, so came a little nearer. 

“Give me a kiss,” he said, laughing. “You’re a 
smart little wench,” and kneeling down behind her 
he bent to kiss her cheek. 

Before he realized what had happened he felt a 
smart blow across the mouth, and Anny sprang to her 
feet and walked off quickly. 

Hal sat back on his heels and passed his hand 
across his lips. 

“You little vixen,” he gasped. 

Anny laughed, a bitter, angry little laugh, and went 


on. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


186 

Hal looked after her anxiously for a moment or 
two, and then as she did not turn back he scrambled 
to his feet and followed her. 

“Anny, you’re not angry,” he said, as soon as he 
was near enough to speak softly. The words came 
shamefacedly from his mouth and he slurred them 
one into another. 

Anny gulped; she was very angry, and Hal’s atti¬ 
tude annoyed her. 

“Indeed I am,” she said, “and turning a slobbering 
calf won’t make me any better. Oh! go home, Hal 
Grame.” 

Hal was amazed. 

“Anny!” he ejaculated. 

Anny repressed a howl of disappointment and con¬ 
tented herself with saying wearily: 

“Oh, go home—go home!” 

The boy looked at her for a moment or two. 

“Anny,” he said at last, “are you trying to leave 
me for the Spaniard?” 

This was more than she could stand, and turning 
to him she broke out into a stream of angry, inco¬ 
herent abuse and denial. 

“Why are you for ever plaguing me about the 
Spaniard? Why does everyone talk of him? I’m 
sick of hearing his name—if you’re jealous of him go 
to him, not to me.” 

Hal shrugged his shoulders and said with irritating 
calmness: 

“Then there is that for me to go to him about, eh ?” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 187 

Anny raised her little clenched fists above her head 
and cried aloud: 

“You make me mad, Hal Grame. Of course there 
isn’t,” and then, as she saw that he didn’t believe her, 
she went on, “Of course not, of course! Oh, Hal! if 
you were a man you’d do other things than worry a 
poor lass dead with your foolishness.” 

Hal flushed. 

“Ah, that’s like a wench!” he said. “What if I 
haven’t a golden jacobus to my name! I shouldn’t 
think you’d throw that at me if you loved me.” 

Anny did not speak and he went on, “If I were a 
man—yes, that’s it, if I were a dirty, sneaking, knife¬ 
throwing Spaniard, with a fleet of rat-ridden cockle- 
boats and a crew of mangy dogs behind me, you’d be 
content—then I could do other things—bring you 
gauds and laced petticoats. Faugh! I’m glad I’ve 
seen you thus; I wouldn’t wed a cormorant and a 
shrew.” 

His anger had carried him away with it, for like 
most Norsemen he had a strain of bitterness under 
his usually sunny, peaceful disposition. 

Anny winced at his words. 

“It’s not that—you know it’s not that, Hal,” she 
said piteously. “But why worry me? If you’re 
jealous of him, fight him.” 

Hal looked at her in astonishment; he was no 
coward, but neither was he a hot-head, and he knew 
something of Dick’s reputation as a swordsman and 
a knife-fighter. 


i88 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


Anny shrugged her shoulders. 

“Fight him,” she repeated mechanically. 

A sneer played round the boy’s mouth when he 
next spoke, and his eyes had grown cold. 

“Marry, Anny Farran, I did not think you capable 
of it,” he said. “You would have me die on the 
Spaniard’s knife and so rid of for ever.” 

Anny began to cry hopelessly. She felt there was 
no use in saying anything to him while he was in this 
mood, but she was very fond of him and he hurt her 
much more than he knew. 

Hal turned on his heel, and, as he strode off, began 
to realize how much he loved the wayward beauty. 
A great wave of self-pity swept over him. He was 
very young, barely nineteen, and once or twice he bit 
his lip convulsively, as he imagined the future loneli¬ 
ness, the constraint at the Ship, old Gilbot’s sallies, 
and then, as he stayed to look out over the glancing, 
shimmering water, he noticed that the little white- 
sailed ship was still hovering about the mouth of the 
Mersea River, and he laughed wildly. 

“May you sink the Spanish weasel,” he exclaimed 
aloud, and then went on, and every step he took he 
became more miserable and angry with himself and 
the girl. 

“Oh! I’ll go and see Joe,” he thought, as he 
turned into the lane. “It’s a fine thing to have a 
mate, so it is, when your lass leaves you for a yellow 
heathen.” And he turned down toward Pullen’s 
cottage. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 189 

Anny sat on the bank where he had left her. She 
was very sorry for herself, too, and she looked round 
her through tearful eyes. 

No one was in sight. Behind her the bright sun 
lit up the countryside with beautiful green and yellow 
light, while in front, the sea, clear and smooth as 
glass, sparkled and glittered peacefully. She got up 
slowly, and started back for the Ship, and for the 
first time a sense of insecurity came upon her, and 
she realized rather fearfully that she was very much 
alone. Hitherto, she had always relied on Hal to 
take care of her, but now he was angry, very angry, 
she could see that; perhaps he would never forgive 
her. She shivered involuntarily. Old Ben was her 
only relative, and the thought of him and Pet Salt 
frightened her. Sue and Gilbot were very kind, but 
would they trouble themselves to protect a little 
serving-wench from a wealthy customer? 

All these questions ran through her head, and the 
image of the dark, wanton-eyed, debonair little cap¬ 
tain rose up in her mind like a spectre. She knew now 
that she did not like him, and she began to be afraid. 
She remembered the times he had tried to kiss her; 
and how each time at the thought of Hal she had re¬ 
pulsed him successfully. Now Hal would be in¬ 
different. A sob stuck in her throat, and she 
swallowed painfully. 

Then an idea struck her. There was always Nan 
Swayle—poor, disappointed Mother Swayle had 
always a soft spot in her hard-crusted heart for little 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


190 

Anny Farran, her old lover’s grandchild. She would 
go to Nan—but then the picture of the lonely old 
woman living with her cats in a tumble-down shed on 
one of the many small dyke-surrounded islands in the 
marshes presented itself to her, and she began to cry 
afresh as she walked wearily up to the Ship. 

Meanwhile, out in the river’s mouth, alone be¬ 
tween sea and sky, the little white-sailed craft pa¬ 
trolled steadily to and fro, as Master Thomas Playle, 
a telescope to his eye, swept the horizon anxiously 
and impatiently. 


CHAPTER XVI 


HE sun was just about to set over the Island 



in a blaze of glorious colour when the Anny , 


JL sailing peacefully under half canvas, came in 
sight of Bradwell Point. 

Blueneck and Habakkuk Coot were below deck 
in a little bunk-hole which they had fitted up as 
a sort of wash-house. It was one of Black’erchief 
Dick’s fads to have his linen always spotless and 
marvellously laundered, and, as this was a luxury 
hardly dreamed of on the Island, during his visits to 
England the valiant Captain had to have his wash¬ 
ing done aboard. The job of laundryman had al¬ 
most naturally fallen to Habakkuk, who had ac¬ 
cepted the office joyfully, and he now stood, clad in 
nothing but his breeches, in front of an emptied 
Canary tub immersed up to the elbows in soapy water. 

Blueneck leaned against the doorway watching 
him. 

“Santa Maria! what an occupation,” he remarked 
contemptuously. 

Habakkuk sniffed. 

“It’s very nice when you’re used to it,” he said 
without looking up from the garment he was pound¬ 
ing and squeezing with a kind of vicious delight. 


191 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


192 

Blueneck shrugged his shoulders. 

“Maybe,” he said, “anyway, Em going on deck; 
this here rat-hole’s too stinking for me.” 

Habakkuk sniffed again but took no other notice 
of his friend, who presently lumbered off* up the 
hatchway. 

The water was very green and the waves rolled 
lazily after one another as though it were hot even for 
them, while the Anny dipped and rolled gently among 
them at about one third her usual speed. 

They were early, and, careless though he was, Dick 
did not like landing until it was at least dusk. 

Blueneck strode across the deck and stood staring 
toward the Island, now just a streak on the flaming 
horizon. 

Suddenly he started, and, speaking sharply, or¬ 
dered one of the sailors who was sprawling on the deck 
to bring him a telescope. 

The man went off* at once and returned in a second, 
bringing a long brass spy-glass with him. 

As the mate of the Anny clapped it to his eye an 
exclamation of surprise escaped him. 

“Mother of Heaven, what will that be?” he mur¬ 
mured, and putting the glass under his arm went 
down the deck in search of the Captain. 

As usual the little Spaniard was standing against 
the main mast, his arms folded across his chest, and 
his heavy-lidded eyes half closed. 

Blueneck approached him deferentially and re¬ 
ported—“Ship ahead, Capt’n.” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


193 

The deeply sunken eyes opened at once and Dick 
put out one delicately scented hand for the glass. 

“She’s sighted us, dogs,” he remarked calmly a 
second or so later. 

Blueneck gasped. 

“I’ll go and head her round, Capt’n,” he said at 
once. 

Dick lowered the telescope and looked over it in 
quiet surprise. 

“That you will not, son of a snipe,” he said, his 
soft voice playing musically with the words. 

Blueneck began to expostulate. 

“The Preventative folk?” he said fearfully. 

Dick swore. 

“And since when have you been feared of the Pre¬ 
ventative folk, dog?” he asked, and his fingers played 
round the hilt of his knife. 

Blueneck flushed. 

“I’m not feared,” he said stoutly, “but ’tis mad¬ 
ness to go on.” 

Dick laughed happily, putting the glass up again. 
Suddenly his whole manner changed. His bright 
black eyes lost their sleepy indifference and became 
alight with interest and excitement, his slender white 
hand ceased to play with his knife, and his voice, 
no longer caressing, adopted a note of command as 
he wheeled round and strode off down the deck 
shouting orders here and there. 

“Put on full canvas and keep her straight,” Blue¬ 
neck heard him say, and he groaned inwardly. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


194 

Under the extra load of canvas the Anny plunged 
and righted herself, speeding through the water at 
her full speed. 

The other brig was well in sight now, and she hailed 
the smugglers several times. 

Dick took the wheel himself and shouted an order 
for the cannon to be looked to. 

The other brig had turned her head straight for 
the Anny as soon as she saw that her salute was 
ignored, and now a ball from one of her several brass 
cannon fell some two yards short of the smuggler’s 
bows. 

“Fire!” shouted Dick, and Noah Goody, the 
Anny’s old gunner, lit the match; the shot cleared 
the pursuing brig and Noah loaded again. 

Nearer and nearer came the brig until Blueneck 
could read the name on her bows, the Royal Charles . 

Faster and faster went the Anny , but the Charles 
gained on her every second. They were well inside 
the bay by this time, but escape seemed impossible, 
for the tide was barely past the turn and between 
them and the Island lay a great gray field of soft 
slushing mud. Any moment they might strike a 
bank of it and be compelled to stay there, an easy 
prey to the Preventative men. 

Dick looked behind; the Charles was very near. 
For a moment he hesitated. He knew the Western 
creeks like the back of his hand, but in order to reach 
that side of the Island he would have to cross in 
front of the enemy, and although he was a daring 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


i 95 

little man Black’erchief Dick was no fool. The only 
course left open to him, then, was to make for the 
East. He knew there were two creeks that were deep 
enough to take the brig, but they were no more than 
thirty feet in their widest part and that was dan¬ 
gerous going. Besides, he was not nearly so familiar 
with these as with those on the Western side. 

At this moment a ball from the Charles dropped 
through the little deck-house and then rolled off the 
deck harmlessly. 

Dick made up his mind. 

“Send Habakkuk Coot hither,” he shouted, for he 
remembered that the man had spent his boyhood in 
the East of the Island. 

Everyone had forgotten Habakkuk in the excite¬ 
ment of the moment and now he was nowhere to be 
found. 

Dick cursed him for a skulking rat and in other 
terms. 

Blueneck went down the hatchway to look for him; 
the smell of steaming soap and water still came from 
the dirty little hole where he had left him. 

Blueneck looked in; Habakkuk was there, his arms 
still in the soapy water. He was singing in a high 
nasal voice and sniffing at frequent intervals. 

He listened to Blueneck’s incoherent account of 
the chase in profound astonishment, but neverthe¬ 
less went steadily on with his washing, and refused to 
leave it until Blueneck in desperation took him by 
the scruff of the neck and the seat of the breeches and 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


196 

carried him before the Captain, his arms still wet and 
soapy, and a dripping shirt clutched in his hand. 

But the situation was too serious for Dick, or, 
indeed, any one else, to notice any little irregularities 
of this sort. 

The Royal Charles was within a musket shot of the 
Annys bows and every second the mud flat in front 
grew nearer. 

Habakkuk, however, had a very good memory, and 
under his guidance the Anny shot down a wide, river¬ 
like stream of water, the mud forming banks on 
either side. 

Dick looked at it in surprise. 

“I did not know that there were any creeks as wide 
as this on the East,” he said. 

“Ah,” said Habakkuk wisely, “this ain’t no more 
’an twenty foot wide—it’s very deceiving. Look 
over the side, Captain, there’s about six inches of 
water on the starboard—an’—they don’t know that, 
do they?” he chuckled, jerking his thumb over his 
shoulder to where the Royal Charles had just turned 
after them. “It’s only about twenty wide a bit 
farther along,” he announced cheerfully a little later. 
“I hopes I ain’t forgot where.” 

Dick stood watching the Charles as she followed 
them down the treacherous creek. She must have a 
pilot who knows the place, he thought, for she still 
gained on them. 

At last, when they were within five hundred yards 
of the shore, Habakkuk gave a short exclamation. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


197 


“We’re stuck,” he cried. 

“What?” Dick sprang round on his heel. 

Habakkuk grinned foolishly. 

“Little tiny channel’s silted up, I reckon,” he 
said. “We’re aground.” 

Dick struck him off his feet with an oath. 

“Out with your knives,” he shouted. 

It was beginning to get dusk and the Charles bore 
down upon the Anny like a great gray tower; nearer 
she came and nearer until they could plainly hear the 
voices of the men on her deck. 

And then it happened. In his excitement the 
man at her tiller let it swerve a little, a very little, 
but enough; there was a soft swishing sound, and the 
Charles’s nose cut deep into the soft cheesy mud— 
she also was aground. 

Exciseman Thomas Playle swore with disappoint¬ 
ment as he ran forward and saw the very little dis¬ 
tance between the two brigs, but he loosened the 
broad-bladed cutlass at his hip and, shouting to his 
men to follow, swung himself into one of the boats. 

“Maria! they’re trying to board us,” shouted Blue- 
neck, whipping out his knife and running to the side. 

Instantly there was confusion, the greater portion 
of the crew running after their mate to the still 
floating side of the brig. 

This sudden change of weight saved the situation. 
With a lurch, a roll, and a quiver, the Anny jerked 
off the mud, Habakkuk seized the tiller just in time, 
and the brig slid on down the creek. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


198 

A yell of disappointment rang out from the first 
boatload of Preventative men and echoed over the 
fast-darkening mud-flats. The tide was coming in 
like a mill-stream, and any moment the Charles might 
also swing clear, but Playle would not wait; springing 
into a second boat, he urged his men to row the faster 
in a vain attempt to catch the Anny. 

Old Noah Goody did his best with the cannon, but 
the progress of the little rowboats was so irregular 
that he could never get the exact range. 

The Anny shot away from the boats at first, but as 
she came nearer into the shore the channel grew nar¬ 
rower and narrower and she was forced to take in 
most of her canvas. 

Dick stood on the bows looking at the fast-gaining 
boats, and thinking. If on reaching the shore he 
abandoned the brig and he and his men ran to hide on 
the Island, the Preventative men would scuttle the 
Anny and confiscate her cargo, which was an extra 
valuable one of Jamaica rum and fine Brussels lace. 
His only alternative was to fight. 

By this time the brig was within twenty yards of 
the beach, and in another moment her keel grated 
on the muddy shingle. 

The excise men were not far behind. 

Dick seemed suddenly to come to life; leaping out 
into the centre deck, he shouted: 

“To the shore, lads, and fight the liverish dogs on 
land!” Then, agile as a monkey, he slid down the 
hawser and pulled in a boat—the crew followed, 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


199 

some wading through the shallow water and others 
in the boats. 

Once on shore they ranged themselves in a double 
line along the beach, waiting, with drawn knives, 
for the boats. It had grown almost dark by now, 
and one by one the stars had come out in the fast- 
deepening sky, but there was a big moon and the line 
of rugged, rum-stamped faces on the shore showed 
clearly in the yellow light. Their brutal expressions 
and the flicker of steel about their belts might have 
frightened many a man older and more tried than 
Master Playle, but the little boats came on un¬ 
daunted, and just as the first keel touched the shingle 
a musket shot rang out and the man next to Blue- 
neck dropped silently. 

Dick swore in Spanish and, raising his pistol— 
the one he had taken from Mat Turnby—fired at the 
man nearest him, a fat elderly servant of Master 
Francis Myddleton’s. The man was almost out of 
range, but the shot wounded him, for he screamed 
and dropped into the water. For half a second 
there was no sound, and then with a yell the crew of 
the Charles charged over the soft, slithering mud at 
the solid line of grim, taut figures who awaited them. 

“Pick out your men!” Dick rapped out the 
order, and as he spoke the handle of his knife slipped 
into the hollow of his soft white palm as if it had 
suddenly grown there, and the slender hand and deli¬ 
cate weapon quivered as one living thing. 

There were fully ten more excise men than smug- 


200 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


glers and they came on with such a rush that the crew 
of the Anny was forced to give way a little, but they 
rallied immediately, and although the Preventative 
folk had the advantage of numbers Dick's people 
had the priceless knowledge of the ground they 
were fighting on. The wiry grass which covered the 
unlevel saltings that lay the other side of the narrow 
beach was very slippery, and in the pale light the 
ridges and dykes were almost invisible. 

Dick soon realized that if the fight was to be 
fought to a finish the sooner they got to level ground 
the better, as his own people found the light decep¬ 
tive. So he worked his way round to Blueneck, 
slashing right and left as he went. 

Blueneck was apparently enjoying himself for, 
although the moonlight showed a gash across his 
temples about six inches long, from which the blood 
poured freely, it also showed a smile on his ragged 
mouth and a dripping cutlass in his sinewy hand. 

Dick spoke to him quickly, just a few muttered 
words, and almost immediately the smugglers be¬ 
gan to give way. Back, back, they went until 
they were flying across the saltings over the mead¬ 
ows and straight for the Ship, with the Preventative 
men in full pursuit. 

Once the mocking voice of Playle called out to the 
Anny s crew to surrender, and the flying smugglers 
paused and half-turned with many oaths, but Dick's 
voice dragged them on again with, “On, dogs, on, 
for your damned lives," and the chase continued. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


201 


Suddenly, as they reached the Ship yard, Dick 
vanished: Blueneck, looking round for further orders, 
could not see him, and his heart sank. Was it pos¬ 
sible that a knife-thrust from behind had killed the 
Captain? He dismissed that idea almost as soon as 
it came to him. The Spaniard was too wary to be 
the victim of such a mishap. The only other alterna¬ 
tive was that he had deserted his crew. 

Blueneck feared Dick, but he had no love for him, 
and this last seemed to be the only possible explana¬ 
tion. He spat on the ground contemptuously. 

But by this time the Preventative folk were well 
upon them and Blueneck realized that it was a case 
of each man for himself, so calling a halt he turned 
on the oncoming force. 

The smugglers were only too glad to obey, and with 
a redoubled force they turned on their enemy and 
hewed their way into them. 

The Preventative men were not sorry to fight, 
however, and young Playle threw himself into the 
thick of the scrap with something very like pleasure. 

The smugglers fought like wild beasts, preferring 
to close in and kill, but the others liked to thrust and 
parry, pricking and wounding, giving way here and 
pressing there, and as they had longer weapons 
than the smugglers they found their method an ex¬ 
cellent one. 

Back went the smugglers down the Ship yard, 
Blueneck slashing wildly, Noah Goody defending 
himself only, and little Habakkuk, his bare chest and 


202 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


shoulders a perfect network of cuts, darting here 
and there like a robin. 

Onward pressed young Playle until he had the 
smugglers with their backs against the kitchen door, 
which opened suddenly from the inside. 

Blueneck put himself on the step in the way of 
the excise men and shouted to his mates to get into 
the kitchen and form a guard. When the last man 
was in he retired also, but the excise men pressed on; 
first one of their men fell, on attempting to enter the 
kitchen, then a second, and a third, but before the 
fourth was struck down in response to a great crush 
behind him he broke through the smugglers’ guard 
and the Preventative men swarmed in. 

Hal Grame suddenly darted forward out of the 
darkness. He carried an old sword which had hung 
over the kitchen shelf for years, and he now laid 
about him with great strokes, but a certain reckless¬ 
ness distinguished his fighting, and his red shirt was 
soon dyed a still deeper shade. 

In spite of his help, however, the excise men drove 
on. 

“God! if the Captain was only here!” groaned 
Blueneck aloud. The man next him caught his 
words and looked round, so did his neighbour, and 
in a moment all that was left of the Anny’s crew 
realized that their captain had deserted them, and a 
certain hopelessness crept into the fighting from 
that time on, and in a minute or two the smugglers 
retreated in a body, knocking over the barrels and 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


203 

benches as they went. They scuttled into the inner 
room and then slammed the heavy oak door behind 
them. 

Habakkuk alone was left behind and he, finding 
the door shut upon him, turned to fly through the 
other door into the yard, but a Preventative man’s 
sword ran him through just as he reached the thresh¬ 
old, and with one last sniff* the brave little laundry- 
man fell prone in a pool of his own blood. 

The kitchen was very dark, there being no fire, as 
it was summer-time, and the only light was the 
moonlight which showed in through the windows and 
fell on the floor in two bright patches. 

So when the door slammed on them, Thomas 
Playle took the opportunity of counting his forces. 
He found to his deep disappointment that he had 
lost a great many more men than he had dreamed, 
and those around him in the kitchen numbered at 
the most no more than six or seven. 

“We must get them yet,” he said, speaking to his 
few remaining followers in a low tone. “An you 
two stay here and I and Jacques go round to the 

other door we-” Suddenly he caught his breath, 

his voice trailed away into silence, and he started 
back, his drawn sword put up to shield his body. 

The man to whom he had been principally speak¬ 
ing had quietly dropped without a cry, and as he 
touched the ground his head and shoulders rolled 
into the patch of moonlight, and his horrified com¬ 
rades saw a thin spurt of blood shooting out from a 



204 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

clean small wound in his neck just over the collar¬ 
bone. 

Before they could collect their wits after this 
shock there was a faint patter of feet behind them 
and another man staggered, tried to speak, reeled, 
and fell. 

Instantly there was confusion; men slashed about 
in the darkness striking anything and any one, shout¬ 
ing, and screaming. A terrible fear of something 
unknown and horrible possessed them and each 
man made for the yard, but one by one as they 
approached the doorway the unseen terror caught 
them and they fell. At last there were but three 
left, young Playle himself, his mate, Jacques, and 
the Charles’s gunner, a tall, powerful man called 

Rilp. 

These three stood back to back in the centre of 
the kitchen, making a triangle, their swords drawn 
before them, so that it was practically impossible for 
anything to harm them from behind. 

They stood there for some moments holding their 
breath; everything was silent. Then there was a 
light patter of feet again and a small bent shape 
darted through the patch of moonlight. It seemed 
to Playle’s terrified eyes to be an evil spirit not three 
feet high from the ground and to have its head almost 
level with its waist while its back was bent into a 
monstrous hump. Instinctively he put up his sword 
to shield his head and at that moment something 
brushed passed him; he slashed at it and fancied 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 205 

that he had wounded it, but the next moment he felt 
Jacques grunt and stumble. He was just going to 
spring away when he felt the man right himself and 
once again a man’s back was firm against his own. 

Then there was silence again for a second. 

Suddenly Rilp staggered, shivered, and dropped. 

Playle immediately darted forward, when to his 
amazement and horror the man whom he thought 
was Jacques darted after him; something sprang on 
his shoulders from behind, a streak of silver light 
darted before his eyes and plunged down into his 
neck; he felt the blood well up in his throat, his 
breath failed him, a dark cloud passed over his 
eyes, and he died, crashing face downward into the 
little patch of moonlight. 

In the scullery Blueneck, his shoulders against the 
door, turned to his comrades and urged them to pull 
themselves together; put forward every excuse for 
Black’erchief Dick’s extraordinary behaviour and 
besought them to get ready to fight again. 

Inside the kitchen they could hear the Preventa¬ 
tive men talking together, and by their low tones 
came to the conclusion that they were planning the 
next attack. 

Suddenly Blueneck started. 

“Marry! they’re fighting among themselves,” he 
whispered. “Hark!” 

From inside the kitchen came the sounds of clash¬ 
ing steel, and angry oaths and ejaculations, followed 
by screams and groans. Then there was silence for 


206 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


a while immediately followed by footsteps, mutter- 
ings, and one terrible yell. 

Then all was silent again. 

“Shall we go in?” whispered Hal. 

“Nay, ’tis a trap,” said another man, whose hand 
and cutlass were one red mass. 

“Nay, I’ll go,” said Hal stubbornly. 

“I shouldn’t, lad,” said Blueneck, staunching the 
bleeding wound on his forehead as best he could. 

Hal put his hand to a dark patch at his side and 
brought it away wet and sticky. 

“Oh, what does it matter?” he said; taking a 
candle from the table he opened the door, holding 
the light above his head. Then he gasped and 
threw the door wide. 

“ Mother o’ God! ” he exclaimed weakly. “ Look! ” 

Blueneck and the others crowded behind him 
and they, too, gasped and fell back in astonishment. 

In the centre of the room the flickering light 
showed a terrible bent little figure; it was a man, 
but the crouching attitude in which he stood sug¬ 
gested rather a beast of prey. He was literally 
surrounded with bodies, and he looked down at 
them with an almost ghoulish delight which was 
terrible to see. But only for a second; as soon as 
he became conscious of the little group in the door¬ 
way he straightened himself and stood smiling at 
them. 

He was clothed only in his breeches and immacu¬ 
late white shirt; his black kerchief was half off, 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


207 

showing the black curls beneath, while his white 
hands were clean and undyed. 

Dick Delfazio smiled again and then began to 
clean his knife on a dainty lace-edged handkerchief. 

Then his crew entered, and he looked up casually 
as they filed in and turning to the least wounded 
man he pointed to a chair over the back of which his 
black silk coat was hung. 

“Prithee, friend, help me into my surcoat,” he 
said, his voice caressing and honey-like as ever. 
“For see,” he added, turning round, “I am much 
hampered.” 

The crew started. 

The sleeve of the white shirt was split from the 
shoulder to the elbow, displaying a terrible ragged 
wound which at one place had laid bare the bone, 
and from the bend in the elbow the warm blood 
trickled on to the floor. 

This was the last act of Thomas Playle’s hand and 
he had done his best. 

Dick slipped into his coat and then surveyed the 
crew. 

“Wash yourselves, friends,” he admonished, “the 
wenches will come down now and may be feared at 
the sight of blood.” He staggered a little and his 
face grew ashy pale, but he rallied himself and with 
some of his usual jauntiness said loudly, “Bring me 
some wine.” Already the black silk sleeve of his 
coat was sodden and sticky, and the arm inside it 
hung limply from its socket; once again he staggered, 


208 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

tried to recover himself and failed, and then, very 
faint from loss of blood, Black’erchief Dick rolled 
over on his side, unconscious. 

Blueneck picked him up like a child and stripping 
off the coat called loudly for Anny. 

“ Surely the girl knows somewhat of physicking. 
The Captain may bleed to death,” he said sharply 
in answer to Hal's suggestion that they didn't want 
wenches about the place. 

Hal put his hand over his own wound and, shrug¬ 
ging his shoulders, a gesture which cost him a great 
deal of blood, went off to find Anny and beseech her 
to attend to his rival’s arm. 

Late the same evening a tumbril borrowed from 
a neighbouring farmer carried a gruesome burden 
from the Ship door down to the beach, and along the 
road it stopped from time to time to collect additions 
to its load. 

A little later a party of men in three rowing-boats 
loaded a terrible cargo into a lonely ship which rode 
at anchor not far from the shore where a brig lay 
aground, and then that same lonely ship sailed off 
out of the bay, and later, after three boats had left 
her side, broke into flames. 

And later still widows and children in Brightlingsea 
wept to see charred spars and planks cast up on the 
beach outside their homes. 


CHAPTER XVII 


T HERE, there, Master Dick, don’t fluster 
yourself so; ’twill only smart your arm the 
more.” 

Anny spoke timidly and shrank behind one of the 
high-backed seats in the old Ship’s kitchen as 
Black’erchief Dick, his eyes dark with anger, raved 
up and down the room. It was some three weeks 
after the affair with the Preventative folk and the 
Island had once more regained its usual serenity. 

“You are bewitched, girl; what are you to refuse 
the love of a man like me?” Dick said angrily, 
and then as she did not answer, he continued more 
softly, “Why not come with me, beautiful Ann of 
the Island? We will leave this God-forsaken mud 
heap and sail away to Spain, cross the great river to 
the beautiful country beyond, where all the grass is 
green and all the plants have bright flowers. What 
is there about this rum-sodden drinking hut that you 
will not leave it for Utopia?” 

“I never heard of Utopia and Mersea is good 
enough for me,” said Anny stolidly. “Besides, if 
you want to marry me, why not tell everybody and 
have a proper wedding by the parson from the 
West, but even then I wouldn’t marry you; I don’t 
love you, sir!” 


200 


210 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


The Spaniard paused suddenly in his walk up and 
down and looked at her. 

“Never has a woman said so much to me before, ,, 
he said slowly, his voice soft and smooth as ever. 

Anny shrugged her shoulders. 

“’Tis time then one should,” she laughed. “Rest 
your arm, sir, and leave worrying a poor girl that has 
work and enough to do, now that Mistress Sue be 
for ever out along the beach with Big French.” 
She turned away. 

The Spaniard was beside her in a second and his 
slim white fingers fastened round her wrist. 

“Oh, you silly little wench,” he said with a laugh 
in his voice, “do you think you can turn off Dick 
Delfazio easily like that? Mistress, I am of some 
account on the Island. Is a man who kills six Pre¬ 
ventative folk single-handed to be stayed in his 
heart’s desire by a little serving-maid, think you?” 

“What would you do?” Anny, her big green eyes 
wide with apprehension, and her back against the 
wall, jerked out the question fearfully. 

Black’erchief Dick looked at her in admiration, 
and, swinging her toward him, he put his arm round 
her waist, and Hal, passing the window at that mo¬ 
ment, suddenly changed his mind about entering 
the kitchen and marched off down the garden cough¬ 
ing and swearing to himself. 

Anny freed herself in a moment and stood with 
her arms akimbo. 

“An you were not wounded and a customer, I 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


211 


should smack you across the mouth,” she said, her 
eyes filling with tears. 

Dick laughed. 

“Come, we should not quarrel, sweetheart,” he 
said. “When you are aboard the Anny -” 

“I pray God I shall be dead before,” the girl inter¬ 
rupted angrily, her tears overflowing and rolling 
down her cheeks. 

Dick caught her hand again and looked at her 
fiercely. 

“I have played enough, lass,” he said. “You 
must come off secretly with me or-” 

Anny laughed. 

“Must?” she said. “Must, indeed! And why- 
fore? I tell you, sir, I hate you, and if you pursue 
me more Fll have the landlord at you.” 

“The landlord!” Dick sneered. 

Anny was desperate. 

“Or Hal Grame,” she said. 

Dick threw back his head and laughed aloud. 

“A tapster! Oh, pretty, pretty little wench, you 
are very amusing!” 

The girl wrenched her hand away. 

“Master Black’erchief Dick,” she said slowly, her 
little face very white and grave, “will you under¬ 
stand please that I do not love you, I do not even 
like you, and I will never go anywhere with you of 
my own will?” 

The Spaniard stepped back a pace or two. He 
seemed to have realized at last that she was speaking 



212 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


the truth, for he looked at the earnest little face in 
front of him with a mixture of amazement and anger. 

“You do not like me?” he said, his voice losing 
all its music and becoming almost childish in its 
extreme surprise. 

Anny nodded. 

“No, I don’t like you. Will you please go away 
and leave me to my work, sir?” 

Dick’s anger rose up and boiled over in a moment. 

“I tell you, you shall come, you pretty little fool,” 

he swore. “Or-” he paused suddenly. “Is 

there some other man you love? Tell me, tell me!” 

Anny cowered before his angry, distorted face. 

“No, sir, of course not, no, sir!” she lied ve¬ 
hemently. “Let go my wrist, sir. Marry, how you 
hurt me!” 

“This great hulking French, now, have you set 
your heart on him? Speak out, girl!” 

“No, sir, of course not!” Anny’s amazement was 
too genuine to be mistaken. 

“Yet you will not marry me?” Dick spoke sharply. 

“No—no—no, sir! Go away!” 

Dick turned on his heel and went to the door. 

“By this knife,” he said, turning on the thresh¬ 
old, “you shall come with me. I wish it, and never 
yet have I been prevented from my desires.” 

“Lord! you’re mad!” Anny flung after him. 

“Ay, mad for you, mistress.” 

Dick’s voice had grown soft again and he laughed 
unpleasantly as he strolled off down the yard. 



BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


213 

Anny watched him go and then turned back to her 
work. 

“Now I wonder will I ever be married at all?” 
she said to herself, as she picked up a broom from the 
chimney-corner and began to sweep away the dirty 
sand which lay all over the floor. 

Blueneck was sitting on the sea-wall, thinking re¬ 
gretfully of Habakkuk Coot, when Black’erchief 
Dick strode up and without speaking dropped down 
beside him. 

Blueneck looked at his captain slily and without 
turning his head. 

Dick was smiling sardonically and his knife slid 
in and out the slim white fingers of his right hand. 

Blueneck considered it prudent to sit still and say 
nothing. 

Dick did not speak for some time, and Blueneck 
began to get uneasy. Finally he rose to his feet as 
nonchalantly as he was able and started to stroll off 
down the beach. 

Dick raised his eyes. 

“Sit where you are, dog!” he said sharply. 

Blueneck slid back to his place without a mur¬ 
mur. 

The silence continued. At last, however, Dick 
put the knife back in his belt and turned his sharp 
eyes on his mate. 

“The lass refuses me,” he said. 

Blueneck shrugged his shoulders. 

“These country wenches be mighty particular 


214 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

about marrying their husbands and so forth,” he 
observed. 

Dick raised his eyebrows. 

“I have said I will wed her,” he said stiffly. 

Blueneck’s jaw dropped. 

“Wed her?” he ejaculated. “Why, Cap’n, you 
must-” He broke off lamely. 

Dick snapped out the question, “Must what?” 

Blueneck did not vouchsafe an answer, and they 
sat in silence for a minute or two. 

Dick began to speak, slowly and carefully, as 
though he was thinking out each word separately. 

“There is a thing on this earth, my friend, called 
love. And a very vile and evil thing it is. It de¬ 
scends upon a man unawares like a shower of rain, 
and soaks through to his very marrow. It takes 
away his energy, his pride in his work and person,” 
he looked down at the lace ruffles at his cuff and 
stroked them lovingly, and then added, “and I have 
reason to think that great men feel it more sharply 
than others.” 

Blueneck glanced quickly at the dapper little 
figure by his side, and shrugged his shoulders. 

The Captain was showing signs of strain, he 
thought. 

“Must the wench be willing?” he asked. “Why 
not carry her off? ” 

Dick shrugged his shoulders. 

“I would rather she were willing,” he said. 

Blueneck looked at him, exasperated. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


215 

“Well, if you can’t persuade her I don’t know who 
can,” he muttered, but Dick did not hear him. He 
was smiling, his eyes half shut. 

Blueneck spat. 

“Bewitched!” he commented silently to himself. 
Then an idea struck him and he turned to the Cap¬ 
tain. 

“There’s Pet Salt,” he said. “She might do 
much.” 

“ Pet Salt ? ” Dick turned to him quickly. “ Who’s 
she?” 

Blueneck told the story of his night on Ben Far- 
ran’s boat with as much credit to himself as was 
possible. 

Dick listened in silence until he had finished; then 
he rose to his feet. 

“I will go to see this crone,” he said grandilo¬ 
quently. “Lead me, dog!” 

Pet Salt sat on the deck of her boat mending a net. 
She was mumbling to herself, and her old knotted 
finger-joints cracked as she fumbled about with the 
rough twine she was using. Beneath the hatches 
she could hear old Ben swearing loudly as he hunted 
among the empty rum kegs for one that still con¬ 
tained a little of the precious stuff. To judge from 
his language he had been so far unsuccessful and the 
woman shifted uneasily as she sat thinking of the 
beating he would give her if he found nothing. 

It was then that she heard a voice calling her from 
the beach. 


2 l6 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


“Pet Salt! Pet Salt!” 

Noisily she scrambled to her feet and hobbled 
over to the side of the hull, and looked down. 

Dick and his mate stood together staring up at 
her. 

“Good morning, mistress,” Dick began in his 
best manner. 

Pet stared at him open-mouthed, her yellow teeth 
looking like fangs. She had never seen such finery. 

Dick, although himself rather taken aback at 
Pet’s appearance, could not but feel flattered at her 
evident approval of his own. 

Pet’s bleared eyes now fell on Blueneck and a 
shade of recognition passed over her wrinkled, spirit- 
sodden face. 

“Oh! it’s you again, ronyon, hey?” she cried in 
her cracked crooning voice into which an eager 
note had crept. “You have no rum kegs slung 
about you, eh?” 

Blueneck waved his hand impatiently. 

“Throw down the ladder, that we may come up 
and talk with thee, hag,” he ordered perempto¬ 
rily. 

Pet hobbled off to obey him without a word, and 
Dick turned to his mate in something like admira¬ 
tion. 

“You have been well schooled, friend,” he said 
approvingly. “Yours is an excellent way of dealing 
with crones.” 

“Have a care!” called Pet from above as she 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


217 


threw the rope ladder over the side. The end 
passed within an inch of Blueneck’s shoulders and 
he looked up angrily. 

Pet was leering at him from the deck. 

“Come up, ronyon,” she said coaxingly. 

Blueneck scaled the ladder in a minute and clam¬ 
bered on to the rolling deck beside her. 

Dick followed, more dignified but not a whit less 
agile. 

Once on deck he looked about him in disgust. 
The worm-eaten boards, the empty kegs and other 
lumber, and the general filthiness of the place dis¬ 
gusted the little Spaniard. His own brig was al¬ 
ways kept neat and fastidiously clean. 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“A very vile place in truth,” he observed, and 
then, turning to Pet, he raised his hat as gallantly 
as if she had been a duenna. 

“I would descend and talk with thee on the shore, 
if you please, mistress,” he said. “This ship dis¬ 
tresses me.” 

He went again to the ladder, picking his way 
daintily across the dirty deck; slowly he climbed 
down again. Pet and Blueneck followed him without 
a word on to the sand again. 

“Prithee, mistress, be seated,” said Dick, indi¬ 
cating a bank of seaweed and seating himself on a 
breakwater some four feet away. 

Pet sat down heavily and looked from Dick to 
Blueneck in a half-witted, puzzled way, her big 


218 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


loose mouth sagging open, on one side showing the 
large yellow teeth, which so irritated Blueneck. 

Suddenly she stretched out a bony hand toward 
Black’erchief Dick and began in a droning whine: 

“May the Lord bless ye, fine gentleman; could ye 
spare a drop o’ rum for a poor woman to take to her 
man who is dying of cold ? Old Pet Salt knows you, 
pretty sir. Old Pet don’t forget a generous face 
when she sees one. Pet remembers when she came 
to the Ship and you gave her a keg. Could you spare 
a little, fine gentleman?” 

Dick stared at her; he remembered her now, and 
instinctively drew a little farther away. 

“Hold thy peace, hag, and hark to me,” he said 
sharply, “and much rum may come of it—nay,” he 
continued as the old woman struggled to get to her 
feet and come toward him, “keep thy distance and 
let thy dull wit take in as much of this as it can. 
You have a granddaughter?” 

A cunning light crept into the old bleared eyes. 

“Ah!” she said, putting on a pathetic whine. “I 
have, God bless her pure heart and body. One 
my man loves dearly! What would you have with 
her, fine gentleman?” 

Dick waved his hand. 

“Woman,” he said softly, his voice taking on that 
musical quality which his enemies knew so well. “It 
would be well if thou and I knew each other’s mind 
a little more clearly—rum is a precious thing to you, 
eh?” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


219 

Pet’s eyes glistened and her lips moved without 
sound. 

“I have much rum,” Dick went on, looking at the 
old woman steadily, “and I would wed your grand¬ 
daughter.” 

“Wed?” The exclamation escaped her before she 
could stop it. 

Dick went on as though he had not heard her. 

“At your boat and by a priest that I shall bring 
with me, I would wed her.” 

“Oh!” Pet said, and smiled knowingly. 

“But so far the lass will have none of me,” Dick 
continued, noting Pet’s amazement, “and so, mis¬ 
tress, I would wish you to persuade her to wed me 
here secretly.” 

“Ay, and if I do?” Pet broke in. 

“If you do, you earn enough rum to keep you and 
your husband in liquor for the rest of your life.” 

Dick put his hands on his belt and looked at the 
old wretch quizzically. 

Pet began to laugh. It was a terrible sound, half 
a wheeze and half a choke. 

“I’ll persuade her,” she muttered. 

Dick quickly put up one white beringed hand. 

“Nay, mistress, you must use no violence on her,” 
he said, “neither must you harm her with spirit 
charms or other bedevilments; I would not have het 
hurt.” 

Pet Salt looked at him out of the corner of her 


eye. 


220 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


“I’ll not hurt your love, master,” she laughed. 
“She shall marry thee—and by a priest you bring— 
ha—ha!” 

Blueneck had never seen his captain blush before 
and he now regarded the little Spaniard with great 
interest. The usually sallow skin was stained with 
a vermilion as he turned on the woman in anger. 

“Keep to your promise then and be silent,” he 
said softly, “or by Heaven I’ll blow your pig-sty 
of a rat-ridden hulk off the Island.” 

The woman looked at him, frightened for a mo¬ 
ment, but soon she began to laugh. 

“She shall wed thee, my pretty, fine gentleman, 
she shall wed thee—Til see to that,” she said, 
scrambling to her feet—“and the rum shall be paid, 
you promise, master?” 

Dick nodded. 

“I swear it,” he said. Then he got up and beck¬ 
oned to Blueneck to follow him. 

“Good-morrow, mistress,” he said, taking off his 
hat. 

Pet stood looking after them. 

“Fll coax her,” the woman called. “T11 coax 
her,” and all the way as they went down the beach 
they could hear her cracked, horrible laughter. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


R UM! rum! ru-u-m-m!” 

Nan Swayle sat in her miserable little 
cabin with her knees drawn up to her chin; 
her cat was perched on a rum keg beside her and 
there was no light save for the cold gleam of stars 
coming in from the open door. She sat there, a 
tall, gaunt figure steadily rocking herself to and fro 
as though keeping time to some monotonous rhyme. 
She was talking to herself in a deep, weary voice, and 
the words she uttered were always the same, “Rum 
—rum— ru-u-m-m! ” 


Outside on the marshes everything was very 
quiet, and she rocked on, undisturbed for a while. 
Then from the direction of the Stroud she heard the 
squeak of a frightened gull as it flew up, disturbed 
from its rest, and then another a little nearer, and 
again nearer still. 

The woman did not cease her rocking; she knew 
someone was coming over the dykes to see her, but 
what mattered that? 

Suddenly she stopped, however, leaned her head 
forward to listen, and then sprang from her chair 
with surprising agility and hurried to the door. 


221 


222 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


“Nan—Nan, where are you?” called a girlish 
voice out of the darkness. 

“Stay where ye are, Anny lass, till I get ye a 
light.” 

Nan’s stentorian tones boomed over the flat bogs. 
Hurriedly she crossed to the darkest corner of the 
little hut where she fumbled for a minute or two. 
There was the sound of soft scraping of flint on steel 
then the tinder caught fire and Nan lit a tallow dip 
and carried it to the door, holding it high above her 
head. 

There was no breath of wind in the cloudless night 
and the flame burned steadily. 

“Oh! Nan, Pm so glad ye’re here,” came the 
same voice out of the darkness, this time a good deal 
nearer. 

“Why, lass, wherever else would I be? What’s 
ailing ye, my girl?” 

Anny scrambled over the last dyke and staggered 
breathless into the circle of light thrown by the 
little flame of the dip. 

“Let me come in and talk with ye, Mother,” she 
said, clutching hold of the elder woman’s ragged 
kirtle. 

Nan put a strong bony arm round the girl’s 
shoulders, and when she spoke her deep voice had a 
softer quality in it than before. 

“Sit down, lass, sit down, and get your breath, 
and then I’ll listen to ye as long as my eyes will keep 
open,” she said kindly. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


223 

Anny sat down on the upturned rum keg, after 
first displacing the cat, who spat at her viciously. 

Nan snatched a leather thong from the wall and 
lashed at the cat savagely, whereupon it slunk into a 
corner and lay down on a heap of onions, keeping one 
baleful eye fixed on his mistress’s visitor. 

Nan sat down on a three-legged stool, the only 
other article in the room save for a huge iron bowl 
which hung on chains over the now empty grate, and 
several bunches of dried herbs hanging from the roof, 
and looked at the girl critically. 

Anny’s face was very white and drawn, and she 
looked about her with a hunted expression in her wild 
green eyes. She had evidently been crying as she 
came along, for there were tear-marks on her white 
cheeks. 

Nan said nothing, but sat looking at her, her 
strong, rugged face absolutely expressionless. 

“Eve got to marry Black’erchief Dick, Nan,” 
Anny said at last. “What will I do?” 

Nan’s eyes flickered. 

“Got to? Who says Anny Farran’s got to do 
aught she don’t want to?” 

“Pet Salt said-” 

“What!” Nan’s face blazed with fury. “That 
blue-livered, mange-struck ronyon! Truth, lass, 
you’re mad to think on her! The louse-ridden, 
thieving, man-stealing, spirit-sodden devil,” she 
muttered to herself. 

Anny shook her head. 


224 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


“She says I’ll be took to the Castle if I don’t do 
as she bids,” she said hurriedly. 

Nan lashed the earthen floor with her strip of 
leather. 

“The woman’s a lying fiend,” she said quickly and 
intensely. 

The girl laid her hand on the other woman’s 
trembling arm. 

“I know she is, Mother, I know she is, but what 
will I do?” she said softly. 

Nan looked up impatiently. 

“Do? Why, do naught, the old hell-kite, the 
sithering-” 

“Ay, but listen, Mother! Listen!” The girl’s 
voice was so insistent that the older woman allowed 
her voice to die away to a muttering. 

Anny went on. 

“If I don’t wed Master Dick, Nan, Pet Salt—” 
Nan began to mumble again, but Anny took no 
notice—“saith that he will carry me off without him 
marrying me—and, Mother, I would be wed.” 

Nan paused in her muttered imprecations to look 
at the girl. This was a new side of the affair, and 
she realized the importance to the girl’s mind. 
She began to consider it carefully, while Anny 
watched her face with almost painful eagerness. 

But Nan’s hatred for Pet Salt was too great to 
allow her to think clearly on any subject connected 
with her old enemy for more than two minutes at a 
time, and she soon broke forth into low, tense reviling. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


225 

“Look!” she said, suddenly springing up and 
standing between Anny and the open doorway, a 
tall black figure against a background of stars. 
“Look at me, child—do you know how old I am?— 
forty-three! You’re surprised? Of course, I look 
sixty, don’t I?—tell me—tell me.” 

Anny looked at the rugged face that had evidently 
once been so beautiful; the light from the dip flick¬ 
ered over it and accentuated each wrinkle and hollow. 
She nodded. 

“Ah!” Nan lifted her clenched fist above her 
head. “That is her work, the woman of hell. 
Once my cabin was the sweetest, cleanest, and neat¬ 
est on the Island, my lips were the reddest, my hair 

the blackest, my smile the most prized-Oh, that 

crawling filcher, would I might feel these hands 
about her scabby neck!” 

Anny sighed. She knew it was no use to attempt 
to stop Mistress Swayle in this mood, so she crouched 
back in her corner, while the cat, which had at first 
objected to her, now came to hide in the folds of her 
kirtle. He also knew his mistress’s vagaries. 

Nan went on, her voice rising higher and higher, 
and her words coming faster and faster until she 
seemed to be repeating some frenzied chant. 

“She took my man—your grandsire—she stole 
him from me with promises of rum to rot his soul 
with—God curse her. I, a sweet milk lass working 
all day in my dairy with a flowered kirtle to my back 
and shoes to my feet—and she a dirty, mange-eaten 


226 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


quean. Oh! may the red-plague fall on her and her 
rat-eaten boat. And he a simple, kind-hearted lad 
with a liking for the spirit! Oh! that kite shall go 
through torments in her time! But he loved me— 
not her, devil baste her.” 

Anny rose to her feet and the cat ran away squeal¬ 
ing. 

“Mother Swayle,” she said pleadingly, “what will 
I say to her?” 

Nan seemed to come to herself again, for she 
patted the girl kindly on the shoulder. 

“You run back to the Ship, lass. I’ll see the 
ronyon,” she said. 

Anny took her hand. 

“You're good to me, Mother,” she said. 

Nan pulled her hand away sharply. 

“Go off with you, child,” she ordered harshly, 
and as Anny sped over the marshes, she heard the 
deep voice behind her getting fainter and fainter 
calling—“ Rum—rum—rum! ” 

Early on the next morning Mistress Swayle set 
out for Pet Salt's boat. The sun, rising red out of 
the sea, tinged her black gown and flying elf-locks 
with a certain rustiness as she bent her head before 
the salt morning wind and strode down the ill-made 
road. She walked along with sweeping strides, a 
five-foot bramble stick in her hand. On either side 
of her stretched the gray-green, dyke-patterned salt¬ 
ings, while ahead gleamed fields of ripening wheat 
and blue vetches. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


22 7 

She was murmuring to herself as she went along 
and often paused to shake her stick at some unseen 
adversary. 

Her cat followed her at a respectful distance, al¬ 
ways keeping one eye on the bramble stick. 

As it was some way to Pet Salt’s boat, Nan was 
tired by the time she reached the Ship and would 
have gone in and rested there had she not been beset 
by a pack of young urchins, Tant Pullen and little 
Red among them, who danced round her in a ring 
calling “Witch!” and “Devil’s Aunt!” and so forth. 

The old woman—for she looked old—laid about 
her vigorously with her stick and as she was very 
strong soon prevented them from barring her way, 
but they followed her for a long distance along the 
wall. 

Pet Salt lifted a tousled head above the hatch¬ 
way, sniffed the cool clean salt air, and shivered. 
Then hastily wrapping a piece of old sail-cloth 
round her mouth and nose she scrambled on to the 
dirty deck and hurried across to a heap of kegs piled 
up high. Under these she at last unearthed a 
partially full one and hugging it to her bosom ran 
back to the hatchway, her bare feet sounding oddly 
on the rotten boards. 

It was at this moment that Nan tapped on the 
side of the boat with her stick and shouted in tones 
loud enough to awaken the seven sleepers. 

“Ho, there, you dirty ronyon, come out, come 
out, Pet Salt, Heaven blast ye!” 


228 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


At the sound of her voice Pet dropped the keg she 
was carrying and tearing the sail-cloth from her 
face hobbled over to the side and looked down. 

“What! you round here, you hell-cat, sneaking a 
look at your love, I suppose, you old-” 

A stream of unprintable language broke from her 
ragged lips. 

Nan, leaning heavily on her long stick, gazed 
upward and when Pet paused for breath she began 
to talk in her big booming voice. 

“What have ye been doing with my god-daughter, 
you stealer of loves?” she shouted. 

Pet began to laugh. 

“Your god-daughter!” she shrieked. “And who 
is she, you mother of witches? You’re not talking 
of my granddaughter, are you—you tike?” 

Nan shook her stick at her fiercely. 

“Your granddaughter! You mange-struck man- 
stealer!” she ejaculated. 

“Man-stealer!” Pet shrieked in her fury. “You 
jade, you miserable, jealous jade—still whining about 
your lover as you call him, you old she-goat. My 
Ben never loved you—your lover! You’re as old as 
the Island. What do you want with lovers?” 

Nan stood there, a tall, imposing figure, her black 
rags gently stirring in the wind. 

“You lie, Pet Salt! In your rotting throat you 
lie,” she said calmly. “I am not so old as you say, 
not so old as Ben—and he loved me well—and would 
have wed me had not you stolen him-” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


229 

“I stole? Marry, hell-kite, I stole in truth! I 
stole when he came begging to my door and beseech¬ 
ing me to save him from you? I stole, you vile 
devil!” 

“He did not!” Nan spoke hotly. 

“Indeed, did he not, ronyon?” Pet was foaming 
at the mouth in her anger. “Ay, he did, he crawled 
to my boat and said on his knees: ‘Oh, save me, my 
own Pet o’ the saltings, save me from yon scabby 
wanton who waits for me!’” 

“May the green grass turn to ashes in your way 
for that lie, Pet Salt,” said Nan slowly. 

Pet put up her hands. 

“Ye’re not to curse me, Nan Swayle,” she shrieked, 
“ye witch of darkness, ye’re not to curse me, or by 
Heaven I’ll call Ben up to ye.” 

Nan laughed a hard, crackling laugh in her throat. 

“You daren’t, you slut,” she said. “Ben may not 
have forgotten his old love!” 

Pet grew purple with rage. 

“I dare not let him see you!” she screamed. 

“What! you ronyon—I dare not let him- Oh! 

you’re mad!” 

Nan laughed again. 

“Still I say you dare not,” she said. 

Pet choked with anger; then a crafty look came 
into her eyes. 

“Oh, I see your mind, Mistress Nancy Swayle,” she 
said with a scornful laugh. “I did not think you 
would be so cunning—do you then long so much for 



BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


230 

a sight of your old love that you walk five miles in 
the early dawning to beg for a look?” 

Nan’s rugged features twitched convulsively, but 
in a moment she was laughing again. 

“Still I say you dare not, slut,” she said. 

Without another word Pet turned away from the 
side and called down the hatchway. 

Nan waited on the beach below, quite still and 
leaning on her stick, a proud smile playing round her 
wide, humorous mouth. 

Two or three minutes later Pet reappeared sup¬ 
porting Ben, who in spite of the early hour was very 
unsteady on his feet. 

He lurched forward and sprawled over the side of 
the hull looking down at Nan. She was evidently 
much surprised at the change in him, for she started 
back a little. 

Pet laughed derisively. 

“Ain’t he a pretty one?” she said. 

Nan gulped and came forward. 

“Hail to ye, Benny,” she said softly. 

Ben looked at her vaguely. 

“Hail!” he said, and then after a moment added 
abruptly, “Whosh you?” 

Pet shrieked with laughter, and settled herself 
down beside him. 

“Who are you, old one?” she screamed. 

Nan went nearer. 

“Do you not remember Nan Swayle, Ben?” she 
said pleadingly. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


231 

“Ah, yesh! I remembers Nan Swayle,” said Ben 
cheerfully. 

“That’s her, ducky,” said Pet, her face red with 
laughter. 

Ben leant farther over the side to look at Nan, 
then he drew himself up and turned to Pet. 

“Slut, you lie,” he said, as clearly as he could. 
“That’s”—he pointed to Nan—“an old hag—but 
Nan Swayle—no, Nan Swayle was a shweet lash—a 
shweet milk lash—an’,” he went on very seriously, 
“a very pretty lash.” 

He leaned over the side and had one more look at 
Nan, who stood beneath him, her arms outstretched 
and her bright eyes brighter than usual. 

“No,” he said. “No, no, nosh—that ish not a bit 
like Nan Swayle. Nan Swayle is a pretty lash, a 
shweet, pretty lash.” 

Pet rocked herself to and fro in a paroxysm of 
laughter. 

Ben stood looking at Nan. 

“Go away, hag,” he said, “find Nan Swayle and 
send her to me and I’ll go with her, but yoush not 
Nan Swayle, or, anywaysh,” he went on, “not Nan 
Swayle I knowsh, you ugly old hagsh.” 

And he began to laugh. “That’s not Nan 
Shwayle,” he giggled, poking Pet’s fat side with his 
fingers. 

Pet rolled over on the gunwale in a fit of laughter. 

“No, ducky,” she roared, “that’s not Nan Swavle. 
That’s a witch telling us she’s her.” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


232 

“Ah! she couldn't cheat me!” Ben chuckled. “I 
knowsh Nan Shwayle, a pretty lash.” 

“Pet Salt, the time will come when you shall pay!” 

Nan’s voice drowned their laughter for a moment. 
She stood there on the shingle, the waves lapping up 
to her feet and the newly risen sun lighting her wrink¬ 
led face where two tears sparkled on her yellow 
cheeks, but her eyes were bright and hard. 

Then she turned away and strode off, holding her 
head high, and as she went the wind carried after her 
the sound of their derisive laughter. 

And it was not until she reached her cabin that she 
remembered she had said no word to Pet of the busi¬ 
ness on which she had set out, Anny’s marriage. 


CHAPTER XIX 


P ET SALT, are you sure all this is so? I 
wouldn’t wed with him if I could help it.” 
Anny spoke anxiously, her little face white 
with apprehension. 

She and Pet Salt were alone together on the deck 
of Ben’s old boat. The tide was well up and the 
waves leaped against the stern with a gurgling sound. 

It was late in the evening, the wind was rising, and 
the sun was setting over the Island in a blaze of red 
and green light. 

On board the Pet there was the customary muddle: 
empty kegs, rotting sail-cloth, torn fishing nets, and 
derelict baskets lay strewn about the decaying deck in 
endless confusion. 

Pet was leaning against the stump of the main¬ 
mast, her red arms akimbo and her tousled gray head 
cocked on one side, while Anny stood looking on to 
the darkening water with her back to the old woman. 

“Sure? Why, girl, certain I’m sure. As sure as 
this boat’s a vile hell, Master Black’erchief Dick will 
have you one way or another—wed or unwed. 
Which way lies with you?” 

Pet’s harsh voice broke the warm quietness of the 
summer evening unpleasantly. 


233 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


234 

Anny caught her breath, and shrugging her shoul¬ 
ders turned toward the old woman. Then she 
laughed. 

“Lord! you must be mad, Pet Salt, how could 
Master Dick carry me off from the Ship, the whole 
village there to stay him? ,, she said, brightening. 

Pet laughed unpleasantly. 

“You think too much of yourself, lass,” she said. 
“To stay him? And why should any one stay him ?” 

Anny’s eyes grew big with surprise and fear. 

“What do you mean?” she said as slowly as she 
could. “Why, Gilbot-” 

Pet began to laugh. 

“You, lass, have less wit than most girls, if you 
think any one would turn away a moneyed captain 
because of a little serving slut,” she said. 

Anny looked round her helplessly. 

“Did you see Mother Nan yesterday?” she asked 
suddenly. 

Pet began to swear. 

“I did,” she said viciously. “The old ronyon! 
Come prowling around here for a look at your grand- 
sire, like an old hen clucking for its chick.” 

“Did—did she not speak with you of me?” 
Anny’s voice trembled. 

Pet laughed again. 

“Lord, girl! the whole Island don’t spend its time 
thinking and talking o’ you,” she said. “I heard 
naught of you from her-” 

Anny looked round her hopelessly, the tears well- 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


235 

ing into her eyes. The sun had sunk out of sight be¬ 
hind the belt of oaks on the Island and everything 
around had grown gray and cool. 

Suddenly she turned and threw herself before the 
old woman. 

“Grandam, what will I do? What will I do?” 
she sobbed. 

Pet kicked her away hastily and spat on the deck. 

“Get up and behave yerself, Anny Farran,” she 
said sharply. “What should ye do but marry the 
handsome Spaniard and sail off with him? Such a 
chance don’t come to every dirty serving-maid.” 

Anny sprang to her feet. 

“I’ll not wed him,” she said, her voice clear and 
loud. “I’ll not if he kills me.” 

Pet Salt’s smile vanished and a crafty, anxious 
light crept into her watery eyes. She crossed over to 
the girl with a peculiar smooth movement and stood 
very close to her, her villainous face very near to the 
young girl’s frightened one. 

“Anny Farran,” she said, her harsh, high voice 
growing more and more uncanny, “there be some as 
say Pet Salt is a witch.” 

Anny started involuntarily. The light was fading, 
and faint shadows were creeping fast all round the 
boat. 

Away over the fields a corn-crake called plain¬ 
tively once or twice and then, quite near, an owl 
screamed loudly. 

Pet’s face grew distorted in the shade. 


BLACK'ERCHIEF DICK 


236 

Anny shuddered; she shared in all the supersti¬ 
tions of the day, and witches and the evil eye were 
well known to her. 

“Ay, they do!” she faltered, “but what say you?” 

“I say—naught!” 

Pet came a little nearer and her voice sank to a 
whisper. 

Anny shrieked and started back. 

“Holy Mother of God, defend me!” she muttered. 

Pet laughed weirdly. 

“Prayers don't frighten Pet Salt,” she whispered, 
:oming still nearer to the terrified Anny, who clung to 
the gunwale. 

“What will you do?” The girl's voice was so low 
that Pet could hardly hear it. 

“Nay! What will you do, ronyon? Shall the 
handsome captain lie by you or no?” 

Anny clenched her little brown hands so that the 
nails cut into her palms. The vision of Hal's hurt 
and angry face kept rising up before her. 

“And if I do not wed him what will you do?” she 
said at last. 

“ Bewitch you, girl, so that even your young slave, 
Hal, may loathe you,” Pet began in a slow sing-song 
voice. “So that your beautiful black hair may fall 
oflF on the sand like seaweed, leaving you old and 
hairless—so that your eyes may burn up and grow 
dim and the sight of the sea never more be seen in 
them—so that your teeth may grow black and ache 
with the pain of ten thousand devils tearing at their 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


237 

roots—so that your nails may drop off and lie on the 
floor like shells, and your fingers wither and grow 
black, and their knuckles decay and the joints drop 
off, and-” 

Anny covered her eyes. 

“Oh, peace—peace, I pray you,” she screamed. “I 
will do anything. Oh, peace-” 

Pet began to laugh. 

“Have a care, Anny, how you tell this,” she said, 
“or I will bewitch thee certainly.” 

Anny looked at the woman curiously. 

“Yet I will not wed,” she announced suddenly. 
“I mind me when you vowed that Master Pattern 
should have a blister grow on his skin to the size of 
an egg, and I mind me that he had no such thing at 
all.” 

Pet began to swear heartily. 

“The hell-kite went to the priest at West,” she 
explained. 

Anny’s eyes lighted. 

“Then so will I,” she said promptly. 

“That you shall not.” Pet laughed raucously. 
“Look you, Ann Farran,” she said, “if you do so 
there’s other things that Pet can do. Send Hal 
Grame and you to Colchester to the Castle to rot 
your lives out in the foul dungeons they have there.” 

This was the last. Anny, who was by this time 
thoroughly frightened, had been brought up along 
with the other Island children to fear Colchester 
Castle worse than death, and, indeed, the stories of 



BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


238 

the dungeons current at that time were very terrible, 
the civil war being only just over. She began to cry. 

“I will wed with him,” she said. 

“Secretly on this boat to-morrow night?” 

Anny gasped. Nevertheless, she shrugged her 
shoulders and nodded. 

“Yes.” 

“Good! The Captain comes to-night to hear of 
it; will you wait to see him?” 

“Nay.” The word broke from her lips like a sob, 
and she ran over to the rope ladder. 

“If you fail-” Pet’s voice grew threatening. 

Anny’s voice trembled. 

“I will not fail,” she said, and then added beneath 
her breath, “Oh, Hal, what will I say to you?” 

As she ran back to the Ship across the fast- 
darkening saltings Anny began to realize the situa¬ 
tion a little more clearly. She had bound herself to 
marry Dick on the morrow; that was terrible enough 
in itself, but after she was married, what then? The 
girl stopped in her stride to think on it. 

“After I am wed I can go back to the Ship,” she 
said, half aloud, “but why be wed first? Oh! what¬ 
ever will I do?” 

Two weeks ago she would have gone to Hal natur¬ 
ally. Now she swallowed uneasily in her throat. 

Hal had hardly spoken to her of late; he had grown 
strangely sullen and taciturn, and spent all his spare 
time in a fishing-boat with Joe Pullen. She knew 
that they took the fish they caught up the Colne 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


239 

and sold it in the little inland villages. She had tried 
to speak to him several times, but he had always 
looked at her so fiercely that she had abandoned the 
attempt. 

Alone on the wild, wind-swept marshes, the girl 
sank down on her knees on the damp spiky grass and 
covered her face with her hands. She remained 
quite still for several seconds and then sprang up 
with a little cry. Hastily she passed her hands over 
her shining plaits as though to make sure that they 
were still there, and examined her nails anxiously. 
Then she sighed with relief and with one fearful 
backward glance at the Pet , set off to the Ship, her 
skirts flying out behind her as she ran. 


CHAPTER XX 


HE same evening Hal Grame and Joe Pullen 



walked up the Ship lane together in silence. 


J- They had just returned from one of their fish¬ 
ing expeditions and Joe carried the catch in a drip¬ 
ping basket on his shoulder. 

Hal strode along beside him, his hands in his 
pockets and his eyes fixed moodily on the ground. 

No word of Anny had passed between them since 
the night a fortnight before, when Hal had stumbled 
into Joe’s cottage and told the story of his quarrel 
with her. Ever since, with natural delicacy, Joe had 
carefully avoided the subject, and had carried his 
mate off fishing as often as he could, thinking that 
this would take his mind off the girl. 

Suddenly Hal stopped. 

“How much had we from the sale of yesterday’s 
fishing?” he asked abruptly. 

“Four groats,” replied Joe promptly. 

“Wilt thou give me two, mate?” 

Joe looked at his friend in surprise; Hal was not 
wont to want money, but he answered readily enough: 

“Certes, lad, certes,” and setting his basket down 
he brought out the two coins almost reverently from 


240 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


241 

his pocket and held them to Hal, who took them 
thoughtfully, weighed them in his hand, and then 
looked up at his mate questioningly. 

“How much silk can I buy with these at Tiptree?" 
he asked slowly. 

Joe looked at him in astonishment. 

“Silk? Why, Hal Grame, what in heaven and 

earth do you want with-" He broke off abruptly, 

a wave of understanding passing over his face. 

“She's not worth your troubling, mate," he said at 
last. 

A dull flush of anger spread over the younger man's 
face and he broke out impetuously: 

“Not worth my troubling! Lord save you, Joe 
Pullen, if it was any other man who said as much, 

I'd-" 

Joe put a huge paw on the boy's shoulder. 

“That’s right, lad, that's right," he said kindly. 
“The lass is your love when all's said an' done—pray 
Heaven you may not be as fooled as I was, though," 
he added mournfully, the thought of Mistress Amy 
flashing through his mind. 

Hal smiled in spite of himself at his friend's lugu¬ 
brious expression, but he soon became serious again. 
“Joe," he said hesitatingly. 

“Ay!" 

“You have had a deal of truck with women?" 

Joe grunted. 

“Wi' one woman, you mean," he said savagely. 
Hal looked at him curiously before he spoke. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


242 

“What will I do about Anny?” he said at last. 

Joe cleared his throat; he had very strong views on 
this subject. 

“You make too much ado about her,” he said. 

“ But for these last two weeks I have said naught 
to her,” Hal objected. 

Joe knew this was true and he shrugged his shoul¬ 
ders. 

“I should be sharp with her, lad,” he said at last. 
“Tell her there be other lasses you could love, and 
she’ll come round in no time.” 

Hal nodded. 

“I had thought as much myself,” he said. 

“Depend on it, I’m right,” said Joe, shaking his 
head sagely, and reshouldering the basket, and they 
continued thoughtfully up the dusty road. 

On turning into the Ship yard they saw the usual 
company seated on benches before the kitchen door, 
drinking beer and rum, each man to his fancy. 

Old Gilbot’s chair had been moved out into the 
porch, and he sat in it drunk and happy, singing to 
his heart’s content. 

The two mates were greeted cheerily; Joe sat down 
and called for rum, but Hal, seeing Blueneck and one 
or two others of the Army's crew among the company, 
walked into the kitchen, put his cap and coat by, and 
looked about for Anny. 

She was not in the kitchen or the scullery, so 
presently he wandered out into the garden where the 
evening shadows lay deep over the plants and shrubs. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


243 

He sat down on an upturned barrel, his elbows resting 
on his knees and his chin on his hands. 

Hardly had he been there a moment when there 
was a rustling in the shrubbery at the end of the 
garden and Anny, her plaits flying out behind her, 
sped up the path toward him. She did not notice 
him, and would have passed had not he put out an 
arm to stay her. 

At his touch the girl gave a little terrified scream 
and started back like a frightened animal. When 
she saw who it was, however, she gave a little sigh of 
relief and a smile crept into her face, while her heart 
beat faster. 

Hal was going to make friends with her at last, she 
thought, and as she smiled up at him she felt that 
here was the solution of her difficulties. 

Hal on his side felt a glow of pleasure at her 
obvious friendliness and a warm impulse to take her 
in his arms. However, he remembered Joe’s advice 
and the smile died on his lips as he said sharply: 

“Where have you been, Ann Farran? And why 
come you in so quickly by the back way?” 

The eager, happy light died out of the girl’s eyes in a 
moment, and a flush of anger spread over her cheeks. 

“And what will that matter to you, Master Hal 
Grame?” she said, pertly tossing her head. 

Hal’s young face grew hard and he laid a hand on 
her arm. 

“Indeed, it has a great deal to do with me, Ann 
Farran. What duty am I paying to Master Gilbot if 


244 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

I let his serving wenches go flying about the Island at 
all hours of the day, and besides, Anny, don’t forget 

that you—you-” His voice had grown much softer 

and even trembled a little, but Anny was too angry 
to notice it. 

“ Indeed, I think you take too much on your shoul¬ 
ders, master—master tapster,” she burst out. 

Hal gasped, and then as his anger rose, his grip on 
her arm tightened and he shook her violently. 

“Take care, Anny, take care,” he said between his 
teeth, “don’t forget that you were to wed me!” 

Anny tried to wrench her hand away. 

“Were? Ay, you’re right, Hal Grame,” she said 
proudly. “Marry! I would not wed you now if 
you and I were the last to be on earth.” 

Hal blinked and let go his grip on her wrist; then 
a smile broke over his boyish features, and he said 
half laughing: 

“Lord, you’re daft, Anny, you know you love me. 
Come, say I lie, you can’t!” 

Anny’s black brows came down on her white fore¬ 
head until they made one straight line across her 
brow and her big green eyes blazed. 

“I say you lie, Hal Grame,” she said very quietly 
and distinctly. “I say you lie and that you are an 
over-weening puppy and think yourself too fine.” 

Hal was stung into replying sharply: 

“Lord preserve you, silly wench, who do you think 
would marry you, a little serving slut, without a 
portion, or even a father, for that matter?” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


245 

Anny tossed her head and looked at him disdain¬ 
fully. 

“I could be wed to-morrow to a finer man than 
you,” she said, forgetting prudence in her irritation. 

Hal laughed savagely. 

“Oh, you fool, you fool, Anny,” he said bitterly. 
“Do you think your little sea-rat will wed you?” 

Anny looked at him with child-like surprise. 

“I do not think at all,” she said, and added under 
her breath: “I know.” 

Hal looked at her hopelessly. He felt that Joe’s 
advice had not been altogether helpful, and as she 
stood there, a wild, free-looking little creature in the 
dim light, he could not help feeling that if he had 
coaxed her instead of attempting to drive her into 
his arms things might have gone better with him, 
and Anny as she stood looking at him felt a pang in 
her heart when she thought of the old Hal, the Hal 
whom she had loved, who had been so different from 
this new Hal who seemed to be deliberately trying to 
make her hate him. 

For two seconds they stood looking at one another, 
each hoping against hope that all would yet come 
right; yet neither of them spoke. At last Anny 
turned away and went slowly into the house, her 
mind made up about her marriage and her thoughts 
on Black’erchief Dick. 

Hal watched her go and then sat down again, his 
head on his hands. Presently he put his hand into 
his pocket and brought out the two groats, and looked 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


246 

at them as they lay shining in his palm, and then 
made a gesture as though to fling them from him 
away into the bushes, but thought better of it and 
repocketed them. 

“The lass may love me still,” he muttered to him¬ 
self. “HI get the present for her. Lasses are slip¬ 
pery catches. I would I knew the way of them.” 

Then, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, he 
got up heavily and strolled slowly up the path, kick¬ 
ing savagely at the loose gravel as he went. 


CHAPTER XXI 


H O, THERE, you mange-struck dogs, broach 
a keg and drink to your captain’s lady!” 
Black’erchief Dick, his eyes flashing and 
his face showing bright and triumphant in the flick¬ 
ering lantern light, shouted the words over the 
side of Ben’s boat to a little knot of picked men 
of the Army's crew, who were ranged on the sand 
below. 

They were present to witness their captain’s 
marriage to Anny Farran, and incidentally to carry 
the rum which was the price of his bride. 

The worn deck of the Pet had been cleaned and 
partially cleared for the occasion. Dick had insisted 
on this, and, in spite of the protestations of the two 
old people, Ben and Pet, the work had been done and 
the place presented a fairly tidy aspect. 

The empty kegs were ranged in neat rows round 
the gunwale, the clothes-line had been removed and 
the rest of the litter swept down the hatchway. 

It was almost dark, and the cloudless sky was a 
pale blue shading off to rose and green in the west 
where the first two or three stars shone faintly. 

On deck a big ship’s lantern stood on the stump 
of the main-mast while two smaller ones hung on 


247 


248 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

each side of it; they showed sick and yellow in the 
half-light. 

Standing before this improvised altar was a man 
dressed as a priest. He held a book in his hand and 
was mumbling to himself nervously in a foreign 
tongue. On either side of him were Blueneck and 
Noah Goody; their knives were drawn and their 
faces set like wooden masks. 

Before them, in a gorgeous ill-fitting gown of 
yellow Lyons silk which Dick had brought and in¬ 
sisted on her wearing, stood Anny. Her cheeks 
were flushed and her eyes dancing with excitement. 
Round her neck hung a great silver pendant studded 
with garnets, and every now and then her hand would 
stray up to this and her fingers caress it lovingly, 
half wonderingly. On the little brown hand shone 
a ring; it was an extraordinary jewel, consisting of a 
little gold hoop supporting a large flower, each petal 
of which was a different kind of stone: diamond, 
ruby, emerald, onyx, pearl, and sapphire, with a little 
piece of amber for the centre. 

Dick had told her that it was very old when he had 
put it on her finger, and she looked at it with some¬ 
thing very like awe. 

Behind her stood Ben and Pet; the old man swayed 
to and fro drunkenly, taking little or no interest in 
the proceedings, but the old woman watched eagerly, 
half enviously, her bleared eyes following Anny’s 
every movement and each gleam of the jewels, her 
quick ears catching each word that was spoken. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


249 


Nothing escaped her, and she noticed that the priest’s 
garments were made for a much larger man, and that 
his book was upside down, but she said nothing and 
merely smiled wickedly to herself as the ceremony 
went on. 

The men on the beach below were not long in obey¬ 
ing their captain’s order, and in a minute the toast 
was given. 

“Health and good fortune to the Captain’s lady!” 

Everybody drank heartily, the priest more than 
any one, and Dick, his brocaded coat and soft lace 
ruffles shining in the dim light, and his black curls 
showing a little more than usual from under his black 
kerchief, raised his glass above his head and taking 
Anny by the hand threw back his head and laughed 
joyously. He had once again got his own way in 
spite of difficulties. He drained off his liquor, and 
throwing the empty glass over his head began to 
sing: 


“Fair as the Island , and proud as the sea , 

As naught in the world is sweet Anny to me” 

The rich musical voice echoed round the old boat 
and floated out over the marshes. 

Anny caught her breath and her grip on the Span¬ 
iard’s pulsing white hand tightened. She was car¬ 
ried out of herself by the excitement of the moment, 
the wonderful frock, the jewels, and above all the 
singing. 


2 5 o BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

Dick felt her emotion, and his arm slid round her 
waist much like a snake slips round a tree stem, and, 
as her pretty head fell back on his shoulder, the song 
grew louder, sweeter, and a triumphant note crept 
into it. 

“ So gentle, so tender, so wise without guile, 

Oh, where is another like Ann of the Isle?” 

Anny sighed deliriously and she shivered with pure 
excitement; the Spaniard’s full red lips brushed her 
hair before the wonderful voice rang out again in 
the chorus: 

(( Ann, Oh! Ann of the Island, 

Where is another like Ann of the Isle?” 

The crew took up the strain, and Dick and Anny 
stood together in a circle of singing men, each with 
his rumkin held high above his head and his foot keep¬ 
ing time to the rhythm. 

Old Pet spat on the deck and an envious light came 
into her evil old face. All her life she had longed to 
be the centre of a scene like this, the magnet of an 
admiring crowd of hard-drinking, hard-fighting, hard- 
loving men. All her youth had been spent in dreams 
of a night like this. Now in her age it was bitter to 
see it come to another woman. 

As for Anny, she was intoxicated with it all; any 
sense of prudence had left her. She was supremely 
happy. Now and again a faint regret that she could 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


251 

not marry Hal rose in her mind, but she dismissed it 
promptly. 

The future had no being for her, and the past was 
a dream; the thing that counted was the present, the 
laughing, pulsing, living present. 

And as the Anny’s crew roared out their captain’s 
own love-song, and Dick, his Spanish blood on fire 
with love triumphant, kissed her hair, her eyes, and 
mouth, she laughed as freely and as joyously as he 
had done. 

The shadows were deepening by this time and the 
deep blue sky was studded with stars, and Anny, 
looking up from the Captain’s shoulder, said sud¬ 
denly: 

“It is late, sir; 1 must go back to the Ship now.” 

Dick looked at her in astonishment for a moment, 
and a contemptuous cackling laugh broke from be¬ 
tween Pet Salt’s thin, blackened lips. 

At the sound of it Anny shuddered involuntarily 
and drew a little closer to the Spaniard, who, noting 
her agitation, turned on the old woman angrily, his 
eyes suddenly losing their dreamy love-heaviness, 
and becoming hard and bright. 

“Peace, hag!” he rapped out, “get thee down thy 
rat-hole, and take thy sodden man with thee, or 
nothing shall you see of me or my cargoes from this 
night on.” 

Pet began to mumble and curse under her breath, 
but nevertheless she obediently hobbled across the 
deck toward the hatchway, half carrying, half 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


252 

dragging the drunken Ben along with her. The 
company watched them in silence and Anny, as with 
fascinated eyes she followed them to the dark hole 
down which they disappeared, could not help being 
reminded of one big muddy crab dragging its prey 
after it into its noisome hole, there to feast. 

Dick, too, watched them and shrugged his shoulders. 

“So may all evil creatures drag themselves out of 
thy path, my Ann of the Island,” he said, and then as 
though a new idea had struck him: “Thou art right, 
dear heart, get thee back to the Ship. That will be 
the best way, and then I will come for thee. Until 
then say nothing of this.” 

Anny smiled happily and ran to the hatchway to 
change her frock again, and as she laid by the soft silk 
she felt in her childish, happy-go-lucky way that she 
had laid by the whole evening’s business with it. 

She had been half afraid that Dick would not let 
her go back to the Ship. Now it seemed that he 
wanted her to. She had some sort of vague idea that 
she was to be his wife on the Island only, when she 
would see him in the ordinary way at the Ship. 

She sighed relievedly; the matter did not seem to 
be as important as she had imagined. 

When she came on the deck again dressed in her 
usual kirtle and bodice, the crew were rolling several 
unopened kegs onto the deck, and the priest was 
helping them, but Anny did not notice this, for Dick 
was waiting for her. 

“I will go with thee along the way,” he said gal- 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


253 

lantiy, his soft eyes seeking hers and his slim white 
hand closing on her little brown one. 

Anny smiled at him and he helped her down the 
rope ladder and on to the beach. Once again his 
silk-sleeved arm slid round her, and she laid her head 
on his shoulder. They walked on in silence. 

Suddenly the Spaniard stopped and his other arm 
encircled her, pulling back her head and raising her 
little white face to his. 

Anny could see him strangely earnest and grave 
in the moonlight. 

“You are my first love, Ann of the Island, though 
there be many others I have sported with,” he said 
in a strangely quiet, even voice, “and I am a strange 
man; take care how you use me.” 

Anny looked at him with frank, innocent eyes; 
he was very handsome, she thought. 

“I pray you kiss me, sir,” she said softly. 

They did not move for a second or so, and the wind 
rose over the sea and whistled through the long grass 
at the sides of the path, and rustled the seaweed at 
their feet. Suddenly they became aware that some¬ 
one was coming toward them. 

Anny grew suddenly rigid; it was a step she knew. 

Dick looked up quickly, and they began to walk 
on. 

The figure came nearer and nearer. Dick strained 
his eyes to see who it was, but the man was in the 
shadow, and he passed without speaking. 

When they had gone on a little way, Dick paused. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


254 

“Didst see who ’twas passed us, Ann?” he asked. 
Anny swallowed, and then said as carelessly as she 
could: 

“Oh! ’twas no one of any account; ’twas the tap¬ 
ster from the Ship.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


AN, are you within? Eve come to beg a 
thing of ye, Mother.” 



^ ^ Anny stood outside Nan Swayle’s little 

cabin and knocked at the door. It was early after¬ 
noon and the hot sun poured down on the gray pur¬ 
plish saltings, but in spite of the heat the hut was 
shut up. 

Anny began to be afraid that the old woman had 
gone away, and a sudden feeling of terrible loneliness 
seized her; she knocked again frantically. 

There was silence for a moment or so and then 
Nan’s great booming voice came out to the waiting girl 
like a welcome peal of thunder after a lightning flash: 

“Good swine, peace to ye, whoever you are. 
What do you want wi’ old Mother Swayle?” 

“’Tis I, Mother—Anny Farran, and in great 
need.” The girl spoke eagerly and her voice shook un¬ 
steadily. 

There was the sound of someone moving hastily 
across the hut; the door flung open and Nan’s great 
gaunt form appeared in the opening. 

“Come in, child, in,” she said kindly, her shrewd, 
keen eyes taking in the girl’s white, haggard face and 
miserable expression. 


255 


256 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

Anny looked up at her for a moment, and then 
her mouth twitched convulsively at the corners, her 
eyes filled with tears, and she flung herself in the old 
woman’s arms, sobbing hysterically. 

Nan led her into the little dark hut and sat on an 
empty keg, gently pulling the girl down beside her. 
Then she began to rock herself gently to and fro. 
She said nothing for some minutes, during which 
Anny’s sobs grew less and less violent. 

“ Now what’s the matter, my daughter?” said Nan, 
after the girl’s grief had somewhat abated. 

Anny began to cry afresh. 

“Oh, Nan, what will I do?” she sobbed. “ What will 
Ido?” 

The older woman put her hands on the girl’s shoul¬ 
ders and held her firm. 

“Cry till ye can cry no more, lass, and then tell 
your story; ’tis the best way; crying eases the 
heart. The Lord gave women tears that their 
hearts might not break every day,” she said, her 
great kindly voice echoing round and about the little 
shanty. 

Anny lifted up her tear-stained face from the old 
woman’s knee, and, carefully avoiding her piercing 
brown eyes, began to speak in a half-whisper, stop¬ 
ping here and there to wipe her eyes. 

“When I came home from the wedding wi’ Master 
Dick,” she began—Nan started at her words and 
carefully suppressed an exclamation of horrified sur¬ 
prise—“we passed—Hal—on the way—and, when I 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


257 

got to the Ship, no one was in the kitchen, so I sat 
down on the long seat and thought on the Captain, 

and after a while Hal comes in, and-” She 

paused. 

Nan said nothing but sat staring in front of her. 

Anny looked up quickly. 

“You knew that we had quarrelled, Mother?” she 
said. 

Nan nodded. 

The girl paused, and when she spoke again her 
voice had sunk into a murmur. 

“He did not see me at first for the kitchen was dark 
and I in the corner. I watched him, Nan, I watched 
him come in, sit down before the counting-table, and 
take down the slate, and I saw him push it away, and 
then draw it to him again, and I saw him put his hand 
through his hair, and I heard him breathe loudly and 
slowly, and as though it somewhat hurt him, and I— 
oh, Mother—I heard him call me: ‘Anny, Anny, 
Anny,’ he said as though he was speaking from a 
long way off; then he laid his head on his arms there 
on the counting-table and I heard him breathing 
again, loud and fast.” 

Her voice died away and there was no sound in 
the coolness of the little hut; then she began to cry 
again. 

Suddenly Nan spoke, and her voice sounded sharp 
after Anny’s impassioned murmuring. 

“And you were married to the Spanish captain?” 
she asked. 


258 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

Anny sat up, her beautiful green eyes brimming 
with tears. 

“Yes,” she said pitifully, “and I love him.” 

“Who? Black’erchief Dick?” 

“Nay, oh, nay, Mother; nay, Hal, Hal Grame—my 
love!” A sob rose in her throat but she swallowed it 
down and continued almost eagerly, “And as he sat 
there, and I watching, I knew ’twas he I loved, for 
all his foolings, and I wondered would I creep behind 
and put my arms about his neck, and put my face to 
his hair, but I minded I was married to the Spaniard, 
and I knew I could not wed with Hal, and I wondered 
what would I do, and then, as I was watching him, 
he looked up and saw me. His face was very pale, 
and I have never seen any one but the dead so pale. 
I thought he would have cried out, for his mouth 
opened and his lips moved, but he said naught; then 
he stood up and came toward me, slowly, as though I 
had been a spirit, and his eyes were so dark and full 
of something, I know not what—that I put up my 
hands to hide my face.” 

She broke off* abruptly and looked round her, and 
brushed the hair off* her forehead before she spoke 
again—all the time Nan rocked silently to and fro. 

“Then I heard him speaking below his breath, and 
his voice hurt me, Nan; his voice hurt me. ‘Anny/ 
he said, ‘Anny, are you come back to me, my love?’ 
and I heard him fall on his knees at my feet, and I 
felt his head in my lap and his arms about my waist— 
and I loved him. Oh, Nan! I loved him so!” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


259 

Her hands clutched at the older woman’s gown con¬ 
vulsively. 

“Mother, will you tell him? Will you tell him?” 
she broke out suddenly. “I couldn’t, I couldn’t, not 
when he was kneeling there more like a young lad 
than a man.” 

Nan stopped rocking and faced the pleading, frantic 
little girl before her. 

“You did not tell him?” she said slowly. 

Anny shook her head. 

“Nay, I could not tell him—I love him so,” she 
said. “I got up and ran away to bed, leaving him 
there, his head on the seat I had left, and, oh. Nan! all 
night long I dreamed I could still hear him breathing 
heavily like that and calling ‘Anny, Anny, Anny.’ 
Oh, Nan! tell him for me, tell him for me! I could 
not stay in the Ship and he there not knowing. Both 
our hearts would break.” 

Nan looked at her curiously. 

“I will tell him,” she said. 

A sigh of relief broke from Anny’s lips and Nan 
went on: “I did not know you had wedded with the 
Spaniard, lass; why did you so? You must have been 
mad; what will ye do now?” 

Anny looked at her in astonishment. 

“I had no choice,” she said. “Pet-” 

A light of understanding swept over Nan’s expres¬ 
sive face and she sprang to her feet. 

“Miserable hell-cat that I am,” she exclaimed, her 
great voice shaking with fury, “to be turned aside by 


26 o 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


Pet’s damned witchcraft, and sent home without 
having done aught. Oh, why did ye do it, lass, why 
did ye do it ?” 

Anny shrugged her shoulders. 

“ ’Tis nothing, Mother, nothing,” she said wearily. 
“I shall not be known as his wife. There will be no 
difference, save that I cannot wed with Hal.” Once 
again her voice broke on the name. 

Nan stared at the girl incredulously. 

“Did he say so?” she gasped. 

Anny shrugged again. “Nay, not in words,” she 
said carelessly, “but he said, ‘Go back to the Ship and 
I will come,’ so you see nothing will change.” 

The elder woman seized the girl by the shoulders. 

“You’re mad, Anny,” she said fiercely. “Don’t 
you see he’ll take you away? When the Spaniard 
comes to the Ship, he comes for you.” 

Anny sprang to her feet, her eyes wide with fear 
and amazement. This view of the affair had not 
presented itself to her before. 

“Take me away?” she repeated wonderingly, and 
then, as the full meaning of the words came to her, a 
little terrified scream escaped her. “I won’t go,” 
she said quickly, “I won’t go—leave this Island? 
Leave the Ship? Leave Hal? No, I won’t go— 

I-” She stopped suddenly and turned to the old 

woman, an expression of horror on her face. 

“There was none who could stay him wedding me,” 
she said slowly, her eyes growing larger and more 
frightened at every word. “There was none who 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 261 

could stay him wedding me; there will be none to stay 
him taking me away. Oh!-” 

She dropped down on the beaten earth floor, shud¬ 
dering violently. 

Nan looked down at her for a few seconds and 
then out of the door over the flat marshes to the hilly 
wooded island beyond. 

“The witchcraft of Pet Salt—blast her—stayed me 
once, Anny,” she said, “but none shall stay me the 
second time, my daughter.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


ANNY ran back to the Ship her mind was 



full of one thing only—fear of leaving the 


X Island. 

Nan’s few words had thrown an entirely new light 
on the situation. Before hearing them she had 
thought of the future as simply a continuation of her 
present life. She could hardly imagine a world in 
which the Ship, the Island, and Hal had no part. 
They had become necessary to her; and the thought 
of losing them terrified her. She had been somewhat 
reassured by Nan’s promise to prevent her from go¬ 
ing with the Spaniard, but as she thought of Dick, 
with his determined air and ready knife, her heart 
sank again, and she hurried on, her head full of 
troubles. 

That evening the usual company gathered together 
in the old kitchen of the Ship, and Anny was kept 
busy serving liquor; she had no one to help her. Sue 
was down walking on the beach with Big French, and 
Anny felt half envious when she thought of the other 
girl’s smooth love affair compared with her own. 
Hal, too, was away; he had gone off to a mysterious 
summons which had been brought to him some two 
hours ago and had not yet returned. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


263 

Old Gilbot was very merry, and as the time drew 
on he called for the candles to be lighted and then 
leaning back in his chair, treated the company to one 
of his favourite songs—“Pretty Poll, she loved a 
sailor,” and soon had the rafters shaking with his 
music and their laughter. 

No one noticed Anny, and the girl went about her 
duties quietly, almost dreamily. Often she would 
pause to listen, and stand waiting, her eyes on the 
door for some seconds, before she went on with her 
work again, her face set and white. 

Just when the chorus of “Pretty Poll ,, was at its^ 
height, however, there was the sound of footsteps on 
the cobbles outside and the door opened suddenly. 
No one noticed it save Anny, and she stood silent. 

Hal came into the kitchen slowly, screwing up 
his eyes until they should have got used to the light. 
The girl watched him, fascinated. His face seemed to 
have suddenly grown very grave and quiet. A man’s 
face, she thought, and she looked at him wonder- 
ingly! 

Suddenly he turned and saw her. 

Anny met his eyes with difficulty, and then 
dropped them before his gaze, so reproachful and yet 
so kind. She shivered a little. 

Nan had kept her promise. 

For the next two days Anny saw nothing of the 
Spaniard and her spirits began to revive. Like all 
the Island folk, she took life very casually, and, as 
the days slipped on uneventfully, the event of her 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


264 

marriage, although barely a week past, grew more 
and more like a rather exciting dream. 

She was thinking like this as she sat alone in the 
kitchen’s open doorway, stitching a seam in one of 
Sue’s new kirtles, when she saw Blueneck coming 
across the yard toward her. Instantly all her fears 
returned and her fingers trembled as she pushed the 
needle to and fro through the coarse flannel. 

He came up and saluted her courteously, as became 
one addressing the Captain’s lady. 

“ Mistress, I have a message for thee,” he said, 
looking about him cautiously. 

Anny glanced up quickly. 

“There is none with us,” she said, jerking her head 
toward the kitchen. 

Blueneck looked round the yard hastily, and then 
bent a little nearer to the girl. 

“Mistress, the Captain bids me tell you that we 
sail to-morrow night,” he said softly. 

Anny caught her breath and the sailor went on: 

“And, mistress, he bids me tell you to be ready to 
go with him when he comes for you.” 

Anny’s sewing slid off her lap onto the ground un¬ 
heeded. 

Blueneck noticed her confusion and, dropping his 
voice to a whisper, said kindly: 

“Take heart, lass, if ever the Captain kissed a 
woman, he loves you,” and then, recovering his re¬ 
spectful manner, he added, “and the Captain prays 
you to be secret for a while.” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 265 

Then with a smile and cheerful wave of his hand he 
turned and left her. 

Anny sat spellbound. 

It had come. 

Immediately her thoughts flew to Nan. She must 
tell Nan at once for, whether the old woman could 
help her or not, the girl realized that she was the only 
person on the Island who was willing to do so. 

She got up to get her shawl and then remembered 
that she dared not leave the Ship. 

Sue and Hal were out in the fields and Gilbot had 
walked down to the sea. The Inn could not be left 
unattended; suddenly she remembered Red. 

The child was playing happily in the garden; he 
came rather unwillingly when she called him and 
stood before her, a quaint, bedraggled little figure bit¬ 
ing his nails, but he was fond of his sister and listened 
to her instructions with great attention. 

“Red, will ye run along to Nan for me?” she said 
as calmly as she could. 

The child’s face fell but he nodded all the same. 

“And will ye tell her this? Now do keep it in 
your head, Reddy”—she was trembling in her agita¬ 
tion—“tell her this—he wants Anny to go to¬ 
morrow and none can stay him.” 

She spoke very distinctly, as though she were trying 
to imprint each word on the child’s mind. 

Red screwed up his eyes in a great mental effort. 

“He wants Anny to go to-morrow, and none can 
stay him,” he repeated at last. Then he turned to 


266 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

his sister. “Who wants you, Anny?” he asked curi¬ 
ously. 

Anny frowned. 

“Oh, go along, dear, go along, hurry!” she almost 
sobbed. 

Red looked at her in mild surprise, and then 
trotted off obediently, muttering to himself as he ran 
and letting the words keep tune to the soft pad of his 
feet. “He—wants—An—ny—to—go—to—morrow 
—and no—one—will—stay—him.” 

He was very hot and breathless by the time he 
reached Nan’s hut, and he stammered out the words 
to the old woman, who listened eagerly, a strange 
light in her eyes. 

“To-morrow?” she said as the boy sank down on 
the floor panting and gasping. 

Red looked up. 

“Yes,” he said, and added: “And no one will stay 
him.” He repeated the words as though they held 
no meaning for him. 

A fierce expression grew on Nan’s rugged face and 
she bent down to the little fellow and shook him half- 
angrily. 

“You lie, boy, you lie,” she said, her face very 
close to his. “Do you hear?—you lie—for there is 
one who will stay him, nay, who shall. Get back to 
your sister—tell her not to fear.” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


H, MASTER GILBOT, ’twill be a deal quieter 
than this to-morrow night, I reckon.” 

Master Granger leaned across from his seat 
in the chimney corner and jerked his head in the 
direction of the body of the room where everything 
was in commotion. 

The Anny was due to sail on the night tide and 
her crew were celebrating its departure with rum and 
song. 

One of the long tables had been pulled out, and 
round this some ten or twelve men sprawled in more 
or less comfortable attitudes. Behind these were 
others sitting on rum kegs or leaning against the 
walls. They were all very merry, and from time to 
time loud shrieks of laughter shook the old Ship’s 
rafters and made them echo again and again. 

Round the flickering fire, the first of the season, but 
a bright one, sat the Islanders, Joe Pullen, French, 
Cip de Musset, Granger, Gilbot, and a few others. 
They did not mix with the roaring, yelling crowd of 
seamen, but sat stolidly, drinking slowly, talking 
slowly, and enjoying themselves after their own 
quiet fashion. Now and again, perhaps, a young 
man would leave his seat to go over and split a joke 
267 


268 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


and a pint with a sailor, but the majority kept them¬ 
selves to themselves, neither objecting to, nor wholly 
approving, the noisy pleasure of the smugglers. 

Hal, especially, was very taciturn. He stood 
quietly in a candlelit corner, cleaning pewter, and 
spoke hardly at all. Sue, however, was in a very 
good humour; in her best kirtle, and her hair tied 
with a bow of scarlet ribbon which French had 
given her, she flew hither and thither carrying the 
liquor. 

Anny had not yet appeared, and Blueneck nudged 
Noah Goody as they sat at the long table, when the 
time crept on, and still she did not come. 

Little Red sat on French’s knee keeping very still 
and listening to the conversation with the utmost 
interest. 

Granger’s remark called forth a chorus of “Ay’s,” 
some disconsolate, but mostly cheerful. 

Gilbot looked at the reeling crowd out of the cor¬ 
ners of his little red-rimmed eyes; then he chuckled: 

“Nish,” he said thickly, a weak, happy smile 
playing over his big puffy face. “Nish, oh! very 
nish indeed. Letsh have a song,” and he struck up 
“Mary Loo” in a thin, quavering voice. 

At this moment the door was flung open and a 
wave of cold air blew round the stifling kitchen; sev¬ 
eral men from the table turned to swear at the in¬ 
truder, but their mouths shut silently and they rose 
to their feet as they saw who it was. 

Black’erchief Dick stepped lightly into the room, 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 269 

and, shutting the door behind him, stood smiling on 
the company, a slim, dapper little figure in black 
velvet. 

Then he removed his black beaver and called 
loudly for liquor all round. His words were received 
with cheers, and once again the talk broke out, and 
the singing restarted. 

Dick perched himself on the end of one of the 
empty tables and looked about for Anny. The smile 
faded from his face when he saw she was not there, 
and a look of disappointment took its place. He had 
no doubt she was preparing to fly with him, but he 
had expected to see her waiting for him, her big eyes 
and wistful little face alight with expectation, and, 
he flattered himself, love. His vanity was hurt at 
her neglect. So his astonishment and anger when 
he saw her come in a few minutes later, in her usual 
kirtle and serving apron, an unwonted colour in her 
cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes as she fluttered to 
and fro from one knot of seamen to another, leaving 
a smile here and a jest there, and a pert, stinging re¬ 
mark somewhere else, knew no bounds. He looked 
at her in amazement; she had not even glanced his 
way. The disappointed expression left his face and 
a smile returned, but it was not the same smile. 

In the next half hour Anny surpassed herself for 
gaiety. Her laugh rang out loud and clear almost 
every other second, and the whole company was at 
her feet in ten minutes. 

Even old Gilbot noticed her and, wagging his head 


270 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

sagely, said that “good lashes” were “good busi- 

JJ 

ness. 

But for Dick she had no eyes, not once did she 
meet his glance, bring his liquor, or come within five 
feet of him. 

At first his surprise kept him silent and grave, 
so that Blueneck observed in a whisper to Goody 
that it was wont to be the lasses and not the Captain 
who were grave when sailing time came, and that 
times had changed, but after a while Dick’s smile 
grew more and more pronounced and he called for 
rum again and again. 

Still Anny took no notice of him. Louder and 
louder grew her laugh, quicker and quicker her re¬ 
torts, brighter her smile, and more numerous her ad¬ 
mirers. 

Hal looked up from his pewter cleaning and 
sighed. 

“She was never so happy when we were sweet¬ 
hearts,” he muttered. 

Only Sue looked at Anny strangely; she was a 
woman and she knew that there was a false note in 
the girl’s laughter, and that the light in her eyes was 
an almost desperate one. But she was an Islander, 
and therefore another lass’s business was none of 
hers, and she said nothing to her nor to any one else. 

At last the Spaniard could bear this lack of notice 
no longer, and raising his voice called pleasantly 
enough: 

“Mistress Anny!” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


271 

The girl started, and the tray of mugs which she 
was carrying rattled nervously, but she recovered 
herself in a second, and smiled radiantly at him. 

“Will your lordship wait till I put these down?” 
she said gaily, with mock deference. 

Dick’s smile grew broader, and Blueneck, who was 
watching him, whistled softly between his teeth and 
nudged Goody again. 

“Not at all,” Dick was saying, his voice very soft 
and caressing. 

Anny put down the tray with a clatter. 

“Oh! there now,” she exclaimed brightly, “if I 
haven’t spilt one half of Master French’s sack; I 
must fill it up. Here, Hal, will ye go to the Captain 
for me while I do this? I know he likes being served 
quickly.” 

Hal went over to him obediently. 

The Spaniard’s eyelids flickered and his smile 
broadened as he ordered more rum, planking down a 
jacobus in payment. 

The time went on, and Gilbot and his customers 
grew more and more lively; still Anny avoided the 
Spaniard, and still he sat on the table steadily drink¬ 
ing rum 

Suddenly in the middle of a song Dick looked at 
the clock, and then rising to his feet shouted: 

“Get aboard, dogs!” 

The singing died away immediately and all eyes 
were turned on the clock. The hands pointed to 

8 15. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


272 

Then a murmur rose among the crew and one 
bolder than the rest said something about orders 
being a quarter to nine. 

Dick sprang to his feet and his hand played round 
the hilt of his knife. 

“A mutiny?” he asked softly. 

Instantly there was a shuffle toward the door and 
they filed out one by one, and Gilbot, his fuddled 
brain just realizing that the merriment had suddenly 
died down, began to pipe cheerfully: 

“Otifno one remembers poor Will 
Who stuck by hish mate at the mill.” 

Dick laughed and took it up, and the crew, glad to 
find him so easily recovered, joined in eagerly and 
they filed off down the road singing in chorus: 

“He ground up more bones 
Than barley or stones , 

And more than old Rowley could kill . 

More bones , more bones , 

More bones , more bones , 

More bones than old Rowley could kill” 

“Ah, well! ,, said Joe, rising to his feet, as the last 
man reeled drunkenly out of the doorway. “I 
reckon I’ll be getting down to look to my boat.” 

The others laughed; it was well known that the 
smugglers would commandeer any rowing-boat that 
might come their way to take them to the brig, and 
like as not would set it adrift to be carried out to sea. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


27 3 

“I’ll go with ye, lad,” said Granger, and they went 
out together. 

Most of the others followed, leaving only French, 
Red, and Cip de Musset sitting with Gilbot round 
the fire. 

Anny and Sue stood by the door talking together, 
their backs to the Spaniard, while Hal went on clean¬ 
ing pewter. 

Dick swaggered over to French. 

“Master French,” he said softly, his beautiful 
voice very even and clear, “hadst thou not better 
go down to the brig and see to thy goods?” 

French looked up, puzzled. 

“Goods?” he said wonderingly, and then added as 
he met the Spaniard’s steady gaze, “Oh! ah! maybe 
I had, maybe I had,” and got up hastily. 

Red caught hold of his hand. 

“Take me,” he whispered. 

French looked down at him and laughed as he 
stroked his honey-coloured beard. 

“Come on, then, young ’un,” he said kindly. 

Red whooped joyfully, and the big man and the 
little boy went to the door together. 

Sue slipped her arm into French’s as he passed her. 

“I’ll come a little way with ye, Ezekiel,” she mur¬ 
mured. 

French put his arm about her and they went out. 

Cip de Musset then rose to his feet. 

“Are you coming, Captain?” he said, as he picked 
up his stick. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


274 

Anny caught her breath as she edged round behind 
the empty table. 

Dick smiled sardonically. 

“I shall follow,” he said. 

Cip looked about him, and then smiled knowingly, 
and putting on his hat, went over to the door and out 
into the dark. 

Black’erchief Dick waited until he had gone and then 
turned and faced Anny, who was watching him, fas¬ 
cinated. She felt that the time had come at last when 
she must shake him off for ever or else go with him. 

She had not heard fromNan since Red had taken her 
message, and she remembered the old woman’s prom¬ 
ise as the one gleam of hope on her horizon, and every 
moment she expected to see her hobble into the kit¬ 
chen, but it was getting late, and Nan had not come. 

Dick walked over to the table behind which she 
stood and seated himself upon it without speaking. 

The desperate light crept into the girl’s eyes again 
and she began to laugh. At least she must keep him 
in as good a temper as possible. She realized that. 
So, dropping a curtsey, she came a little nearer and 
leaning over the table she asked him would he drink 
again. To her surprise he answered her very pleas¬ 
antly that he would, and ordered rum. 

Hal, who was still cleaning pewter, looked up from 
his work, and watched the little scene with a growing 
sense of despair. 

To know that his love was lost to him was bitter 
enough, he told himself, but to see her happy in the 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 275 

Spaniard’s company, to see her hang upon the Span¬ 
iard’s words, and wait for his smile, was too much; he 
turned away quickly. 

When Anny came back with the rum, Dick caught 
her wrist and held her firm with one hand while he 
raised the tankard to his lips with the other. 

“Why are you not ready to come with me?” he 
whispered as he set down the empty rumkin. 

Anny began to laugh again. 

“Lord! how you talk, Captain!” she said, trying 
to pull her arm from out his grasp. 

The Spaniard’s grip tightened, and his smile grew 
more grim. 

“Ann, this is not the time to jest,” he said, his 
voice growing softer and more musical at every word. 
“The brig waits us.” 

Anny noticed that his voice was gentle, and began 
to giggle again. 

“Well, Master Dick, let it wait,” she said, tossing 
her head. “ It can wait till Doomsday before you’ll see 
me aboard,” and she broke into a little nervous laugh. 

To her surprise Dick joined in with her, and his 
long, low laugh echoed through the kitchen. 

Hal looked up quickly and then turned away as 
though the sight had stung him, while Gilbot, think¬ 
ing that it was a signal for general joyfulness, began 
to sing again: 

“ Pretty Poll , she loved a sailor , 

And well she loved he -” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


276 

“Peace, damn you, peace,” roared Dick, suddenly 
gripping Anny’s arm so hard that she cried out. 

Gilbot sat spellbound. Never had any one so 
spoken to him in his life before, and he was about to 
reply, but one look at the furious face of the little 
Spaniard calmed him and he subsided, muttering: 

“No offensh, no offensh.” 

This outburst had surprised Anny quite as much 
as Gilbot, and she looked at Dick with new fear. If 
only Nan would come, she thought, if only Nan would 
come! 

At this moment the door opened and she turned 
eagerly, her eyes alight with hope, but it was Sue who 
came in softly and sat down quietly by the fireside 
opposite her uncle. 

Dick turned his head without letting Anny go, and 
called for more rum. 

Hal brought it, without looking at either of them, 
and set it on the table. 

The Spaniard drained it at a gulp. 

“ So you will not come with me, my beautiful one ? ” 
he said, still smiling, and leaning across the table 
toward the girl. 

Anny looked at him and her spirits rose; he was 
only playing with her, after all, she thought, as she 
saw his dark eyes smiling at her. 

Yet she wished that Nan would come, although 
she was still vague in her mind as to what she ex¬ 
pected the old woman to do when she did come. 

“Nay, sir,” she said, smiling, “not this time.” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


2 77 


The Spaniard laughed again. 

“Not this time, my Ann? Not this time?” he 
questioned in an almost threatening note, which crept 
into his laughing tone. 

“Here, boy, more rum,” he called over his shoulder. 

Hal brought the liquor; the Spaniard drew his 
knife from his belt and held it up by the blade so that 
the flickering light fell on its jewelled hilt. 

“’Tis a fair blade,” he said admiringly. 

“Ay, it is,” agreed Anny, as she took the rum 
from Hal, who nearly cried out as he saw her bright, 
eager face lifted to the foreigner’s. 

Dick took the tankard and drained it; then he 
began to smile again and to twist the knife through 
and about his fingers with that peculiar, smooth 
movement his crew knew so well. 

The girl watched him for a second and then 
looked up at the clock. Why had not Nan come, 
she wondered ? 

“’Tis late, Captain, you will miss the tide an you 
do not hasten,” she said. 

Dick’s eyelids dropped a little lower over his dark 
eyes, but his knife slipped through his fingers with 
a faster motion than before. Yet still he smiled, 
and when he spoke Anny thought that she had never 
heard so beautiful a voice. 

“Ah! senora, I would not leave the Island without 
that jewel which is mine by right,” he said softly. 

“Oh! I had forgot,” said Anny, feeling in her apron 
pocket, “here is the ring, sir, I had it ready for you,” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


278 

and she drew out a little muslin packet, and unfold¬ 
ing it disclosed the flowered ring which he had given 
her. She held it out to him. 

Sue, who had been watching them, gasped at the 
sight of such a jewel, and looked at Anny wonderingly. 

The girl was over-lucky, she thought. 

Dick took the ring and slipped it over the blade 
of his knife; it slid up to the hilt and there stuck, 
a band of gold and gems round the blue steel. 

“You give it back to me?” he said, half to himself. 
“You give it back to me ? No other woman has done 
so much, ,, he added suddenly, looking at her with 
that peculiar smile playing round his lips. Then 
his voice dropped, and he said as though he had just 
realized something: “But to no other woman have 
I given so much,” and he laughed again, unpleasantly 
and yet so musically—while the knife fairly sped 
through his slim, delicate fingers. 

Anny began to feel fairly sure of herself. Why 
should she wait for Nan to defy him, she thought? 
Here he was, laughing and playing; surely there 
would be no danger in telling him the truth. 

She leaned a little nearer to him and said very 
softly so that none of the others could hear: 

“I would you would go, sir; you have your ring; 
what else remains?” 

The knife paused for a moment in its unending 
circle round the thin white hand, the dark lids flick¬ 
ered, and the thin twisted smile vanished, but only 
for a second; then the soft voice said smoothly: 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


279 

“One thing, Ann, my Ann of the Island, one thing 
remains that must come with me; that is my wife.” 

Anny began to laugh again nervously, but con¬ 
quering herself she said sharply: 

“ Pest on ye, sir, will ye never stop teasing a poor 
girl’s life out? I tell you, I hate you, sir.” 

Dick laughed softly, and there was a new note in 
his voice which no one could mistake, and Anny 
drew back a little. 

“You said so once before, sweet Ann,” he said, 
“and I did not believe you then, as I do not now.” 

Anny felt strangely irritated by his attitude, and 
bending still closer to him, said in a sharp half¬ 
whisper: 

“Oh! but, sir, you should; a man who woos un¬ 
loved is a foolish sight in my eyes.” 

Dick slipped his arm round her waist and held her 
fast; he was beginning to realize that he had at last 
come up against a will which would not bend before 
his own, and a wave of uncontrollable anger surged 
over him; his smile almost vanished for a moment 
and the knife quivered in his hand. 

Anny took his silence as a sign that her words were 
prevailing with him and determined to play her last 
card. 

“I love another one,” she said softly, drawing away 
from him as she spoke. 

A ripple of laughter burst from the Spaniard’s 
lips and he held her closer to him. 

Hal looked up at the sound with a fierce light in 


280 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

his eyes; he made a step forward, but drew back 
again almost immediately. 

“The lass likes it,” he thought mournfully. “The 
lass likes it.” 

Yet he could not keep his eyes off* the two. 

Anny pointed to the knife, which was hanging be¬ 
fore her, and looked into the dark smiling face so 
near her own. 

“Put by thy knife, sir,” she said pettishly. “It 
fears me.” 

Once again Dick laughed. 

“Nay, ’tis a beautiful thing,” he said, holding it 
in the palm of his hand, the point toward her. 
“Think you not so?” 

The girl shrank away and he bent toward her. 
“You said you loved another, mistress,” he said 
suddenly, fiercely. “Is it truth?” 

Anny smiled at him fearlessly. 

“Ay, sir, truth!” she said quietly. 

The Spaniard’s smile returned, and the blue knife 
with the gold band on it seemed suddenly to have 
become part of his hand as with a deft movement 
he laid the bright steel against the girl’s bosom. 

Hal and Sue leaned forward to see this new foolery 
of the Captain’s, each thinking that his love-making 
was a little too open to be decent. 

“Oh! my sweet one, how fair my blade looks 
against thy white breast,” said Dick, his eyes holding 
Anny’s. “You gave me back my ring, but I am 
generous; see, I give it back to you.” With the last 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


281 

words the knife seemed suddenly to quicken and 
spring from his hand, and Anny staggered back from 
the table, her hand clasped to her breast. 

“Oh! how you hurt me, sir,” she said simply, 
the smile still on her lips and her cheeks still bright 
with the excitement of a moment before. Then 
her eyes closed and she dropped on to the floor, the 
little thud her body made on the stone flags echoing 
all round the kitchen like a thunder-clap, and the 
knife Black’erchief Dick held was red blood up to 
the hilt. 

He looked at it dazedly, a horrified expression on 
his usually inscrutable face. 

“Dead!” he said hoarsely, his voice sounding old 
and strained in the intense silence. “She is sure 
to be dead; we have never struck twice, but,” his 
voice sank to a whisper, “at last we have struck too 
soon.” 

He passed his hand over his forehead and gazed 
fixedly in front of him; some of the blood which had 
spurted off the knife on to his hand now smeared 
his forehead. Save for this, his face was ashy pale 
—then with slow, deliberate steps he walked to the 
door, opened it, and went out. 

For a second the kitchen was in perfect silence, 
and then a scream as high and despairing as a wo¬ 
man’s rang out loud and clear in the suddenly cold 
room, and Hal Grame his boyish face distorted with 
rage and horror, flung himself across the kitchen and 
out after the Spaniard. 


282 BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 

The night was an exceedingly dark one, and Nan 
Swayle stumbled once or twice over the loose stones 
in her path as she strode over the rough track which 
ran from her shanty to the Ship. 

Many strange thoughts came to her as she passed 
on through the darkness, her tall, gaunt figure strain¬ 
ing against the wind and her ragged garments flying 
like streamers out behind her. 

The bitter memory of her last encounter with 
Pet Salt still rankled with her, and the thought of 
Anny’s enforced marriage to the Spaniard made her 
hate the other old woman more deeply than before. 
She had sworn to Anny that she would prevent her 
sailing with Dick, and it was to fulfil this promise 
that she was striding through the night. 

To prevent Dick from carrying off Anny! 

Nan had thought over her self-allotted task very 
carefully, and to her there seemed but one way 
to accomplish it. She had decided to take that 
way. And as she hastened on, her thin brown fingers 
gripped her long staff fiercely and from time to time 
she stopped to feel the heavy round stone which was 
bound to the top of it, making a once-harmless walk¬ 
ing-stick a formidable weapon. 

On she went, her head held high, and her sharp 
eyes fixed ahead as if she were seeking to pierce the 
blackness which closed in all around her. 

* “They do not sail till eleven,” she muttered, 
“and she would not go at once. I shall be in time 
to catch them as they come out of the yard. Ay, 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


283 

that is it, as they come out of the yard; it is dark 
there,” and, mumbling to herself, she clambered 
through a gap in the hedge and stumbled out into the 
Ship lane. 

She had now a very little way to go, and her grip 
on her staff tightened as she hurried on. 

A sharp bend in the road brought her in sight 
of the Ship. She could see the lights from the 
kitchen gleaming through the trees. She pressed on 
for a few more yards and then stopped suddenly and, 
holding her breath, stood rigid for a second, listening. 

There was silence everywhere and the old woman 
shifted uneasily. 

“No noise?” she muttered. “No noise? What 
has come to the Ship on sailing night that all should 
be so still?” 

Keeping her eyes fixed on the lighted window, she 
hastened on to the yard gates. There she paused 
again. The Ship was silent as before, and then, as 
she stood there watching, the door opened and a slim 
figure stood silhouetted against the bright back¬ 
ground for a second and then staggered out toward 
her. 

Without further thought Nan strode forward, her 
staff upraised. 

Hardly had she moved, however, when Hal’s 
terrible scream rang out through the open doorway. 

The old woman sprang forward, a faint inkling of 
what had happened flashing through her mind. 

Dick did not see her until she was almost on top 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


284 

of him. He came across the yard dazed and horrified, 
conscious of one thing only—that in a fit of rage he 
had killed the one woman he had ever loved. 

The knife, still sticky and uncleaned, hung from 
his fingers, and the light from the window fell upon 
it as Nan came up to him. 

When he saw her dark form and shining eyes rising 
up before him out of the darkness, he started back, 
bringing his hands up before his face. 

Nan seized her opportunity and without a thought 
of the possible consequences dropped her staff and 
darting forward wrenched the knife out of his nerve¬ 
less grasp and plunged at his throat. 

Nan was a strong woman, and the knife, glancing 
on the Spaniard’s collar-bone, turned and slipped 
down into his neck, cutting the jugular vein. 

A choking exclamation, “Dona Maria,” fell from 
his lips, a rush of blood stifled all other words, and 
he dropped on the dry stones as dead as the girl he 
had left in the Ship’s kitchen. 

Nan heard them and laughed bitterly. 

“Maria!” she muttered. “You may well call on 
her. Here, this is thine; take that with thee to hell, 
you slithering coward,” and bending down she 
slipped the twice-stained knife into the slim white 
fingers. 

Then she straightened her back and looking up, 
became aware of Hal Grame’s tall figure standing 
not two feet away, his eyes fixed upon her. 

They stood quite still for several seconds, neither 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 285 

speaking, and then Gilbot hurried out of the door. 
The shock had sobered him for once in his life. 

Seeing Hal, he broke out excitedly: 

“Have you seen him, lad ? Have you caught him? 
Where is the ruffian ?” 

Still Hal did not speak, but catching the old man 
by the arm he pointed silently to the still figure at 
their feet; the stream of light from the open door¬ 
way fell across the Spaniard’s face and the white hand 
which held the knife. 

Gilbot bent down for a moment, and when he 
looked up his face was even paler than the boy’s. 

“Who?-What—what happened?” he whis¬ 

pered. 

Hal looked silently at Nan. 

The old woman faced him without flinching. 

“As I come up the road, I see him come out o’ the 
door waving his arms, and then suddenly drop like a 
sack; when I come up to him he was like this,” she 
said. “He killed hisself, I reckon,” she added care¬ 
lessly. 

Old Gilbot looked down at the huddled form. 

“’Twas just what I feared when I come to the 
door,” he muttered. “Lord! what things men do 
because o’ wenches—and in my house, too! What’s 
to happen now?” 


CHAPTER XXV 



IEN minutes later, Joe Pullen, who stood on 


the beach watching the Anny’s red lantern 


swing to and fro in the sharp breeze, was 
startled by the sudden appearance of Hal at his 
elbow. The boy’s face showed livid in the faint 
light, and his eyes seemed to have turned dead and 
dull like those of a corpse. When he spoke, his 
voice was strangely high and uncontrolled. 

“Where’s Blueneck?” he said nervously, clutch¬ 
ing the other man’s arm. 

Joe jerked his thumb over his shoulder to where a 
little group of men could just be distinguished in 
the darkness. 

Hal gasped with relief and turned to go to them, 
still keeping his hold on Joe’s arm. 

The elder man suffered himself to be dragged 
after the boy without a murmur. He saw that 
something had happened but, until Hal vounteered 
the information, he was not the one to enquire for 
it. 

Hal pushed unceremoniously through the little 
crowd, still pulling Joe behind him. 

“Master Blueneck, will ye come up to the Ship 
at once?” he said, tapping the Spanish sailor on the 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


287 

shoulder and speaking in a whisper. Something in 
his tone caused the man to back away from his fel¬ 
lows, and step aside with the boy, and after a few 
muttered words of conversation the three set off up 
the lane at a brisk run. 

A few seconds later they turned into the Ship 
yard; the door was still open, and a bright light shone 
from within the kitchen while all around was dark 
and very silent. 

Running all round the paved yard, which was long 
and very narrow, was a wider one of beaten earth, 
and, as the three men turned into the gate, they 
could just make out the form of a tall woman stand¬ 
ing well on their left. She was digging. 

Old Gilbot met them in the doorway; he was very 
excited but quite sober. 

On seeing Blueneck, he seized him by the arm and 
dragged him into the room. 

Joe and Hal followed slowly. 

Inside the kitchen everything seemed dead and 
quiet; the atmosphere was cold and damp and 
smelt of stale rum; the fire had died down to a few 
smouldering embers, and the steady ticking of the 
clock was the only sound. 

Sue crouched in a corner shivering, her eyes wild 
with horror, and her teeth chattering. The two long 
tables had been dragged together, and on this rough 
bier Dick and Anny lay side by side, the knife be¬ 
tween them. 

There had not been time to wash the tables even. 


288 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


had any one desired to do so, and the two lay among 
the dregs and sloppings of the night’s drinking. 

Blueneck walked across the kitchen and stood 
looking down at the bodies without uncovering. 

Gilbot followed nervously. 

“What are you going to do?” he whispered 
anxiously. 

The sailor said nothing for a moment or two but 
continued to stare down at the limp, blood-stained 
figure whose white fingers held the thin red knife. 

Gilbot stood trembling behind him, a picture of 
a wild crowd of captainless seamen sacking his inn 
rising up in his mind. 

A strange light began to break over the Spanish 
sailor’s face, and he stroked his ill-shaven chin 
thoughtfully. 

“Do?” he said slowly. 

Gilbot swallowed painfully, his fat, podgy knees 
shaking under him and his little reddened eyes shift¬ 
ing uneasily. 

“He killed hisself,” he muttered. 

Blueneck bent over the table for a second and 
with his finger and thumb lifted one of the dark 
eyelids. He appeared satisfied, and straightening his 
back looked at the two critically. 

“I knew it wasn’t no usual affair with him,” he 
said almost complacently. Then he turned to Gil¬ 
bot. “She was a pretty wench,” he said, nodding 
at the little, white, still smiling face on the table. 

Gilbot did not speak, and the man went on: “I 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


289 

never thought he’d do for himself, though,” he mut¬ 
tered, “but it’s his stroke right enough, see”—he 
dragged the lace ruffles from the small gushing 
wound, “right over the collar-bone and down to the 
neck—he was a wonder with that knife of his; there 
wasn’t another man in the country who could try 
that stroke on himself and hit so clean.” 

Gilbot nodded. 

“Ay, he was a wonderful little fellow,” he said, 
“though I never took much notice of him. But 
what are you going to do, sir?” 

Blueneck faced the three men steadily, a smile 
breaking out on his lips. 

“Put to sea!” he said deliberately. “The men are 
a mangy lot, God knows, but if they’d sail under him 
they’ll sail under me, and be glad of the change.” 

He paused, and Gilbot heaved a sigh of relief, and 
Blueneck, seeing that his decision was approved of, 
added: “And if ever I come near this accursed, God¬ 
forsaken island again the devil scuttle my brig and 
carry off my canvas,” and so saying he turned on his 
heel and strode to the door. “Good-night, good 
people,” he said, turning on the threshold. 

Hal stepped forward and took the little knife 
from out the fingers that were still warm. 

“Will you take this?” he said, holding it out to 
the sailor. “It served him well and may you.” 

Blueneck drew back. 

“Nay!” he said hastily, “I’ll have none of it, and, 
mark my words, lad, you put it down; the thing 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


290 

is evil. The man there was harmless enough without 
it, but together, by God, they were devils. Put it 
down. Fare you well, my masters,” he added, and 
went out. 

They heard his footsteps die away down the road 
before any one spoke; then Gilbot wiped his beaded 
forehead and turned to the two friends. 

“ You must get them out of here; get them buried,” 
he said jerkily, pointing to the table. “Sink them 
in the mud,” he added, an idea coming to him. 

Hal sprang suddenly forward, a light in his dulled 
eyes and his mouth half open—but his words died 
on his lips, for at that moment Nan Swayle, spade in 
hand, appeared in the open doorway. 

“It is done,” she said, her big booming voice 
sounding strangely hollow in the silent room. “Su¬ 
san, are you ready? Come help me.” 

The frightened girl crept out of her corner and 
went toward the table; the old woman followed. 

Gilbot put his hand on her arm. 

“What are you doing, woman?” he said. 

“Burying my gran’daughter,” replied Nan laconi¬ 
cally. 

“Not in my land,” said the old man quickly. 
“Fli have no graves in my land.” 

Mother Swayle turned and looked at him steadily. 

“The lass shall be buried in good Island earth, 
near the only home she ever had,” she said deter¬ 
minedly, “and the grave is dug, and, thy land or no, 
Master Gilbot, there she shall lie.” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


291 

The man hesitated for a moment, but little by little 
his wavering eyes dropped before Nan’s bright ones, 
and shrugging his shoulders he drew back to let her 
pass. 

Hal, who had stood motionless watching them, now 
stepped forward. 

“I—Til carry her for you, Mother,” he said with¬ 
out looking up. 

Nan stared contemptuously at him for a moment, 
her bright eyes growing suddenly hard. 

“Had you carried her off ere now all had been 
well,” she said abruptly. 

The boy winced, and something like a sob escaped 
him, but he turned and faced the old woman dry¬ 
eyed. 

“May I take her?” he said again. 

Nan made a gesture of impatience. 

“Ay, take her, take her, boy, take her,” she said 
bitterly. “None of your carelessness can hurt her 
now.” 

Joe, who had been watching the whole proceedings, 
now came forward and caught the old woman’s sleeve, 
and drew her away, then whispered: 

“The lad is wonderful over-wrought, witch; leave 
taunting him.” 

Nan looked at him fiercely, but she drew back, 
and the boy, stepping past her, picked up the light 
cold form of his love and, holding her in his arms, her 
blood-stained corsage pressed against his breast and 
her pretty head with its long black plaits lolling 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


292 

heavily on his shoulder, carried her quickly out of the 
room. 

Sue began to cry softly, and Nan stood leaning 
on her spade and looking down into the fast whiten¬ 
ing embers in the open grate. 

In two or three minutes Hal came back; he was 
very pale and there was blood upon his hands and 
clothes. “I have left her to you, Mother,” he said 
rather unsteadily as he stood in the doorway looking 
across at the old woman. 

Nan turned from the fire without a word, and 
beckoning to Sue, who followed her, still weeping, 
she went out and shut the door behind her. 

Gilbot looked after her. 

“’Tis a wonderful strange woman she is,” he said 
thoughtfully, “talking about granddaughters and 
such like, and her never having had a child.” 

He shook his head and then turned to the table. 
“We must get him outofhere,”hesaid, suddenly grow¬ 
ing nervous again, as he looked at the dead Spaniard. 

“Here, Hal, Joe, take him down to the mud. It 
will do the old place no good if folk get to know he’s 
lying here,” and he began to drag the limp mass on 
to the floor. 

Joe looked up at the clock. 

“Half-past twelve,” he said thoughtfully. “’Twill 
be full dawn at five.” 

Then he turned to Hal. 

“In four hours I’ll risk going out with him, lad,”, 
he said. “Will you wait till then?” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


293 


Hal nodded. 

Gilbot looked up. 

“I had forgot,” he said. “I had forgot; it is a long 
time since I went out on the mud—ah, well! Hal, 
bring me some rum.” 

The sky was a pale gray in which two or three 
late stars still shone faintly, and there was a sharp 
twang of frost in the air, when two men, carrying the 
body of a third between them, four great weights slung 
over their shoulders, stumbled out of the old Ship’s 
kitchen, leaving behind them a girl asleep by the 
empty grate and an old man lying drunk upstairs. 

As they came out into the yard they both turned 
instinctively to a patch of newly disturbed earth on 
their right from the side of which rose a dark figure, 
who glided off into the grayness beyond. 

The shorter of the two men spoke gruffly. 

“The witch was fond enough of the lass,” he said. 
“I wonder she didn’t do more to save her.” 

The other answered him bitterly: 

“It wasn’t her place, Joe. ’Twas mine. And I 
did naught. God knows I—I thought she loved 
him,” he added, giving the slim little figure whose 
shoulders he held a violent shake. 

Pullen shook his head, and a drop of pure senti¬ 
ment crept into his bright blue eyes. 

“’Tis a wonderful pity,” he said slowly, “a won¬ 
derful pity—poor little lass—and him, too—he must 
have loved her, or he’d never have killed hisself.” 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


294 

The memory of Nan’s upstretched arm and fierce 
blow came clearly to Hal, and he opened his mouth 
to speak, but thought better of it, and they trudged 
on in silence. 

The mud looked very black, cold, and sinister when 
they at last reached the shore; the tide was well 
out, and the sea seemed a full mile the other side of 
the soft greenish belt. 

Joe dropped the Spaniard’s feet and stood staring 
in front of him for a moment; then he stooped down 
and lifted them again. 

“It’s a bit farther up,” he said shortly, and they 
went on. 

Presently he stopped again. 

“Here we are,” he remarked, as he sat down on 
the shingle, and, taking off his back a pair of boards 
specially cut for the purpose, he proceeded to tie them 
on to his feet. 

Hal did the like, and the two set out over the 
black, evil-smelling ooze. 

The boards prevented them from sinking more 
than a few inches at each step, but it was not easy 
going, for the limp body of the Spaniard, although 
not heavy, was yet not light. 

The two slipped often, sometimes almost fall¬ 
ing. 

After some fifteen minutes of this Joe paused. 

“This’ll do,” he said, nodding to a circular patch 
of smooth grayish mud which lay just in front of 
them. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


295 

Hal looked at it and at the white face of the 
Spaniard; then he shuddered. 

“It’s horrible,” he said. 

Joe grunted. 

“Give us them weights, lad,” he demanded, hold¬ 
ing out his hand. 

Hal slung them over. 

Hastily, and w T ith perfect calmness, Joe tied them 
to the Spaniard’s feet. He had to bend nearly double 
to do this, as to kneel with the boards on was im¬ 
possible, and he straightened his back with some re¬ 
lief on finishing. 

“That’s enough; now in with him,” he said 
briskly, wiping his hands on his jersey. Then his 
eyes fell on the silver buttons on the black velvet 
coat and the rings on the white hands, and he pulled 
out his knife. 

“’Twould be a pity to leave him tnese, he said 
practically, bending down again. 

“Let be, Joe Pullen,” Hal’s voice rang out clear 
over the wind-swept flats. “We’ll have naught of 
his. Let the devil keep his own.” He drew from his 
belt the thin two-edged knife, now brown and clotted 
with dry blood, round which was still the flower-ring, 
and threw it into the centre of the gray circle. It 
sank almost immediately. 

Pullen watched him. 

“Ay, maybe the knife, but not the buttons; there’s 
no evil in them.” 

Hal shook his head. 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


296 

“Nay,” he said determinedly, “evil in everything 
he touched, everything he owned—sink it deep, Joe, 
sink it deep.” 

Pullen sighed and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Maybe you’re right, lad,” he said, “maybe you’re 
right,” and added cheerfully, “and I don’t know 
who’d buy them, anyway. Come, then, heave him 
in.” 

Hal bent down and together they lifted the once 
so gallant little figure, still clad in all its bravery, 
and dropped it gently into the gray patch; the weights 
hit the mud first and sank quickly out of sight, drag¬ 
ging the silk-stockinged feet with them; the ooze 
clicked and chuckled to itself as it sucked down its 
prey. Farther and farther in sank the body of the 
great little captain, who twelve hours before was so 
gay, so sure of himself, so debonair. 

The dawn breeze came stealing across the sea, 
and a sea-gull screamed lazily near by, while a faint 
yellow light began to glow over the mainland the 
other side of the bay. Now the mud had reached the 
Spaniard’s breast; his head, still bound with his fa¬ 
mous black kerchief, had fallen forward and his limp 
arms lay loosely on the soft slime. 

Joe looked at him critically. 

“I wonder now has he struck the hard?” he said 
thoughtfully, and leaning forward he put his foot on 
the black-coated shoulder and pushed vigorously. 
The mud sucked noisily and the body vanished 
rapidly. Now only the head and one arm were 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 297 

visible. Now the head was gone. The dark eyes, 
the terrible crooked smile, the white flashing teeth— 
the cold silent mud had them all. Now only a hand 
was left; it lay for a second on the gray background, 
white and shapely, and then it, too, vanished, leaving 
the gray circle as quiet and untroubled as before. 

Joe turned away. 

“Come,” he said slowly, “it’s all over now.” 

Hal looked up. 

“Ay,” he said, and his voice was heavy and tone¬ 
less. “It is all over—Joe, all over in one night. 
Come.” 

And they toiled, slipped, and struggled back to 
their homes again. 

The yellow light over tne mainland grew brighter 
and brighter, turned to gold, and then to crimson, 
and the sun rose once more over an Island as quiet 
and peaceful as if the Spaniard and his love had 
never been. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


O NE evening two or three years later. Big 
French and Sue, his wife, their young daugh¬ 
ter, and little Red Farran, whom they had 
taken to live with them, sat round the fire in the 
Ship kitchen. 

Gilbot was dead. It was said in the village that 
he had died singing “Pretty Poll,” and he had left 
the old Inn to Hal Grame, who proved himself a 
very able landlord. He had grown very taciturn, 
however, since the affair of the Spaniard and the 
girl, which had by this time been almost forgotten by 
the easy-going Islanders, and he had taken to tobacco, 
with which Fen de Witt was well able to supply him 
at a cheap rate, and he sat now in a haze of smoke on 
the opposite side of the fireplace to French, his pipe 
in his mouth and his head thrown back as though 
in earnest contemplation of the rafters. 

Joe sat at his elbow drinking ale; they two were 
as friendly as ever, but Pullen had been known to 
aver that no word of Anny or the Spaniard had been 
exchanged between them since that cold September 
morning long ago when black mud had swallowed 
the last trace of the affair. 

It was late and all the other company had gone; 
the dips were beginning to die out one by one, and 
298 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


299 

tall shadows began to creep over the oak-beamed 
ceiling and dark, rum-fumed walls. 

Presently French rose to his feet. 

“Ah, well,” he said, “I reckon we’ll go home, Sue. 
Good rest to you, Hal.” 

The landlord nodded. 

“Same to you, Master French, and you, too, 
mistress,” he said, without taking his pipe out of his 
mouth. 

Sue smiled and picked up her baby who was crawl¬ 
ing on the long seat beside her. 

“Good-night, Hal,” she said, and then added, 
looking round the room affectionately: “It’s almost 
like the old days to be all here together again.” 

“All?” murmured Hal bitterly. 

Sue did not hear him but went on gaily. 

“ Yet I would not change,” she said. “These days 
are happier, I with my man and my little one.” 

Hal winced, and French, who was watching, put an 
arm affectionately round his wife’s shoulders. 

“Come, lass, we stay too long a-talking,” he said, 
gently drawing her to him. 

Sue looked up at him, a smile on her lips. She 
was very proud of her handsome husband, and they 
went out together, little Red following, his hand 
clutching French’s big coat skirts. 

After they had gone there was silence in the room 
for a second or two, while Pullen helped himself to 
more ale from a pitcher at his elbow. 

Hal stared into the blazing fire. 


300 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


“Like the old days?” he said at last, half to 
himself. “Like the old days? My God!” 

Joe put down his tankard and wiped his lips. 

“I reckon I’ll be going home to Amy—damn her,” 
he said, getting up. 

Hal looked up, frowning. 

“Must ye so, mate?” he said wistfully. 

“No, no, er—no, lad, no need,” and Joe sat down 
again and re-filled his pot. 

The silence continued. 

Suddenly Hal rose and, standing on tiptoe, reached 
down one of the old cups on the high mantel shelf, 
and emptied its contents into his hand. 

Joe heard the clink of coins and looked up. 

His friend was leaning against the chimney-piece, 
his face half hidden, and in his hand which he held 
open before him were two little coins. 

Presently the younger man turned away from the 
fire and held out his hand to Pullen. 

“Do you remember these, mate?” he said rather 
abruptly. 

Joe looked at the money curiously. 

“Groats?” he said. “Well, now, I can’t say as I 

do, but-” He broke off suddenly. “That day 

we’d bin after fish?” he enquired. 

Hal nodded. 

Joe looked at him in astonishment. 

“Why, lad, you don’t go thinking o’ that now, 
surely?” he said. 

Hal clinked the coins together and looked round 


BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


301 

the kitchen ruefully. “I couldn’t give her aught 

then—but now—if only-” His voice trailed off 

and ceased. 

Joe shifted uneasily in his seat. 

“Don’t think on it, lad, don’t think on it,” he 
advised. 

Hal laughed bitterly. 

“You know not what you say, Joe Pullen,” he 
said, “I must think on it. ’Tis all I have to think 
on,” and he puffed at his pipe almost fiercely. 

Joe did not speak, and after a while the other 
went on again; he spoke jerkily, and his voice was 
very low: 

“Sometimes I think I see her come in crying and him 
after her. That’s when I try to forget, but it’s no use, 
I can’t; she loved him, I reckon; I can’t forget that.” 

Joe cleared his throat noisily. 

“Why trouble yourself, lad?” he muttered. 
“She’s gone and he with her, and you’re here-” 

“More’s the pity,” interrupted the other. “I 
have naught to make me want to stay.” 

Joe leaned back and crossed his legs. 

“Oh! I don’t know,” he said, “there’s the Ship; 
she’s your love—after—after Anny.” 

Hal looked up quickly. 

“The Ship?” he repeated slowly. “The Ship my 
love after Anny? Ay, maybe you’re right, mate, 
maybe you’re right; I had forgot her—ay, the Ship.” 
A slow smile spread over his face and he forgot to 
smoke. 



BLACK’ERCHIEF DICK 


302 

“My love after Anny,” he kept repeating softly. 
“My love after Anny.” 

And after Joe had gone home he sat long, looking 
into the fire, the slow smile still on his lips, but later 
still, when his eyes fell again on the two groats, he 
picked them up tenderly and put them back in the 
cracked cup upon the mantel-shelf, and then after 
carefully bolting the door he took his candle and 
went up to bed. 

On their way home Big French and Sue had to pass 
Nan Swayle’s cabin, and, as they came toward it, Red 
noticed the red baleful eyes of Ben, the old tom-cat, 
peering at them from behind the shed. 

“Nan’s at home,” he said, hugging French’s hand. 
“And Ben’s bin whip’t.” 

The big man looked across at the lonely shanty. 

“God be wi’ ye, Nan,” he shouted; his voice re¬ 
sounded over the silent marshes and echoed round 
about the hut, but there was no reply. 

French went nearer and knocked at the door. 

“Are ye well, Nan?” he called. 

Nan’s big booming voice replied, and her usual 
greetings rang out through the door: 

“Ay, God be wi’ ye, good swine.” 

French laughed and they went on, and as they 
crossed the dark saltings to their home they heard her 
hail, expressing approval and friendliness, following 
them over the flats, loud, then soft, and finally trail¬ 
ing off into a long-drawn-out wail: 

“Rum, rum, rum—m—m.” 





















































































































































